


peripheries

by ethiobird



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, During Canon, F/F, Feelings Realization, Flirting, Humor, Idiots in Love, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, POV Bow, POV Glimmer (She-Ra), POV Perfuma, POV Shadow Weaver, Pre-Canon, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, Useless Lesbians, tags to be added as updates come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25558114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethiobird/pseuds/ethiobird
Summary: It's obvious that Catra and Adora are hopelessly in love with one another. Obvious to everyone except Catra and Adora, that is.ora collection of canon-compliant studies detailing various characters' perspectives as they come to one simple realization about two useless lesbians. a realization that somehow takes the two useless lesbians in question a lifetime of being best friends and five seasons of a Netflix Original Series to reach.
Relationships: Adora & Bow (She-Ra), Adora & Glimmer (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow & Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Catra & Glimmer (She-Ra)
Comments: 176
Kudos: 373





	1. Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bow's emotional intelligence and kindness put everyone to shame.

There’s a certain peace to outer space, you think. Once you get past, you know. The ever-present and _totally plausible threat of total catastrophic failure in a piece of centuries-old scrap—_

Deep breath. _Peaceful_.

You refresh the comm system on your tracker pad for the fourth time tonight. The glow of the ‘trying to establish connection’ wheel taunts you in the darkness of the main bridge. Forever spinning. Like it has for days. Weeks? 

Yes, it’s already been made clear that even between Darla’s still-mysterious First Ones comm tech and Entrapta’s tinkering that you wouldn’t be within range for another day at least. And no, you don’t _actually_ think that your trusty tracker pad is any more advanced.

You pinch the bridge of your nose as you set it face-down on the surface of the control panel maybe a little too sharply, leaning your weight onto your hands and raising your eyes to the expanse.

Deep breath. Stars. Peaceful. _Stars._ Man, if your Dads could see…

You heave another frustrated sigh, unable to keep the worry from creeping back. For your Dads, for everyone still on Etheria—you know the radio silence was expected but you still can’t shake thoughts, like. What if it’s too late, or worse just _barely_ too late? Like if you all hadn’t gone out of your way to rescue Catra of all people— 

You banish that thought as a wave of shame hits you, and push off of the control deck abruptly, turning—

“AUGH—” Your voice cracks sharply as you jolt, instinctively taking a defensive stance at the sight of a dark silhouette at the entrance of the bridge. As if summoned by your thoughts, you realize it’s Catra, palms held up defensively, brows furrowed, vibrant eyes darting to the side.

“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t think anyone was awake, I just. I’ll just go.” Catra, apologetic. Catra, anxious, fumbling her words. Looking _so_ small, so very _not_ threatening, hunching her shoulders and clutching her left arm in her right.

It is. _So_ weird.

“No, it’s—!” You rush, easing the alarm from your posture as you step forward, then stop, because she immediately tenses. You adopt what you hope she can see in the darkness is a warm, encouraging smile. If anything, that just turns her expression more wary, and she shifts back. Alright, not the right tactic. “It’s fine, and you’re welcome to stay, I know it’s…” Instead you turn back towards the massive main window, away from her; give her the kind of nonchalant regard you suspect she’s more comfortable with. “It’s really peaceful out here, especially at night. Kinda helps me sort out my thoughts when I can’t sleep.”

“‘At night?’” You see her throw up air quotes in the window reflection. “As if there’s ‘day’ in space?” She scoffs, a raspy lilt you’re familiar with throughout you and the Best Friends Squad’s various…encounters with her over the years. Except now it’s teasing, playful—without malice.

“Fair point.” You concede with a shrug. You can just make out her figure moving to gracefully hop into the frame of one of the side windows, pulling her knees to her chest as she stares out into her own corner of stars.

You subtly watch her from your periphery, catching the movement of her smoothing a hand through her newly shortened hair, noticing the way it lingers at the still-bandaged wound at the base of her neck. She draws her knees in even closer, huddling into herself, which…you suddenly realize may just be an act of staying warm, as she’s still in Adora’s white and grey underclothes. Because she has nothing besides the tattered, too-white suit Prime forced her into, which you’re pretty sure is long incinerated by now.

“It’s unsettling.” She says finally, so quiet you’re not even sure you were supposed to hear. “Space. The silence. I don't think I'd be able to sleep at all without—“ She cuts herself short with a sharp inhale and tucks her chin behind her knees, tail curling around her own ankle. Her posture reads shy—bashful, even. And that’s when you realize—

_—without Adora._

After Catra’s rescue, you and Glimmer quickly cleared out one of the storage rooms and set up a cot as a makeshift infirmary, giving her some privacy as she recovered. No one has explicitly brought up the fact that Adora’s own cot in the larger bunk room the rest of you share hasn’t been touched in the nights since.

The unspoken words feel like an admission, if unintentional; they fill the enormous bridge as they simultaneously fill something in you, like a puzzle piece finally sinking perfectly into place.

_Oh._

You let her unfinished sentence linger in case she wants to elaborate, but she doesn’t, and eventually that warm fullness in the air turns into a tense discomfort. Finally you give her an out, breaking the silence. “I think Glimmer feels that way too. I was only on Prime’s ship for a little while, but…” Catra’s tail twitches. “Unsettling is definitely a word I’d use to describe it. I can’t imagine being trapped there for that long.”

Her tail full-on swings over the side of the window ledge, agitated as she snaps, “‘Unsettling’ doesn’t even scratch the surface, Arrow-boy. Sparkles should consider herself lucky she wasn’t up there any longer.” You see her bite her lip, self-reproach clear in her wincing expression.

“She does.” You assure gently, offering a small smile as you fully look over your shoulder at her. “And she also knows that’s because of you. We all do.”

She keeps her lips pressed together—doesn’t meet your eyes. Eventually you turn back to face your designated set of stars, hoping the sincerity of your gratitude is felt.

“She talked about you while we were up there, you know.” She breaks the silence, her tone less guarded. “I mean, both of you. But it was really obvious that she…I mean she was really worried she wouldn’t get the chance to make things right with _you_.” You can almost see the roll of her eyes as she huffs, “Pretty insufferable, honestly. Couldn’t get her to shut up. _‘Bow and I’_ this, _‘Bow always’_ that.”

You let out a chuckle to mask the way your stomach flips just a little at her words before adopting a more serious tone, “I’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t perfect right away. I didn’t realize how…how hurt I’d felt until we got her back. Needed some space to think.” You fall silent, almost punctuating the point. “Still need some space to think, if I’m honest. Maybe that’s why I keep coming out here.” You admit quietly, maybe to yourself more than Catra.

She doesn’t respond, and it stays that way long enough that you think maybe the talking is over and you’ve fallen into a respectful silence. You itch to know what else she and Glimmer talked about—alright, _fine,_ you’re curious to know how else she may have talked about you, specifically. _You_. With the understanding that it’s somehow different than Adora, because it is. And seemingly obvious even to Catra, which is somehow both comforting and scary.

Eventually you settle on saying, “Thank you for telling me that.” Meaning it, but when you turn to face her again, the window ledge is bare, and you’re alone on the bridge again. 

Your mouth settles into a thin, nervous line. She can be _really_ quiet when she wants to be.

It isn’t until you turn to leave the bridge (after checking the tracker pad for the seventh time) to finally get some rest that you realize she definitely wasn’t just talking about Glimmer.

Glimmer stirs on her cot next to you as you quietly lay across your own. You hear Entrapta murmur _‘mnnghdata’_ as she turns over across the dark room.

“Mmyoukay?” Glimmer whispers, groggy.

“Yeah, just checking some stuff.” You assure, pointing towards your tracker pad and watching her as she squints cutely at you. “Hey, will you help me with something when we wake up?”

Glimmer hums sleepily, without hesitation, “Mmfcourse.”

You let your eyes close, smiling, placing a gentle hand over her wrist as you drift off. She hums again, content.

* * *

You wake with a start to a metal clattering sound from the kitchen, followed by some kind of shrieking ruckus. Glimmer groans next to you and you rub the sleep from your eyes, stumbling from your cot towards what you now register as Adora and Catra’s voices. Any concern you had immediately vanishes as you round the corner.

_“_ Ador— _stop!”_ Catra is giggling— _giggling—_ she and Adora tangled up in one another on the floor as Adora tries to shove some kind of First Ones and probably extremely expired _something_ into Catra’s face. They clutch at one another’s wrists, fighting for the upper hand without any real conviction all as they wheeze through shrieks of laughter and insults and it’s.

_So cute._ But also loud. And a little ridiculous.

“But you _love_ the gray kind!”

“Not gray with _mold_ , you idiot, ew— _STOP!”_

You decide not to interrupt. While they’re distracted, there’s a job to be done.

Glimmer yawns as you both approach an already-alert Entrapta. She looks up from her screen as you launch into an offer to grant her permission to tinker with Darla’s navigation system and Wrong Hordak’s memory drive in exchange for her help with—

“Oh, thank you for the reminder!” She bursts loudly. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I had to take Catra’s measurements myself since Adora incinerated the suit she was wearing when we rescued her. I’m _so_ glad you’re on board with integrating Wrong Hordak’s memory drive, the navigational possibilities are—!”

“Okay!” Glimmer quickly cuts her off, clearly less tolerant than usual of the shrill volume of Entrapta’s babbling at this hour.

“First, the suit.” You assert gently, refocusing her. “And we want to help.”

You determine with Entrapta what you'll need, deliberate for a moment with Glimmer, then sketch out a quick design as she digs through ship crates for miscellaneous clothing items and materials. Some are ancient and probably belonged to Mara, some have accumulated throughout Darla’s short time with the rebellion. Entrapta finishes it in a flurry of purple-haired snips and whirs just minutes after everything is gathered. She then unceremoniously tosses the suit into Glimmer’s face with a manic, _"Here ya go, bye!”_ and trounces off towards the bridge with poor Wrong Hordak in tow.

“No time to waste.” Glimmer huffs with narrowed eyes in Entrapta’s direction. She smooths out her mussed hair before folding the garment into her lap and settling next to you atop one of the storage crates, leaning back against the wall. 

You suddenly remember that this is the first time she’s even been around Entrapta since before the Battle of Bright Moon, the last she’d heard being that Entrapta was a more than willing instrument of The Horde’s machinations.

“She’s just excited.” You say with a smile, wordlessly assuring her that things are different, that not only can she trust Entrapta, but that she’s vital to everything now. You feel the tension in Glimmer’s shoulders ease just a little at your words. 

You hear Adora’s rare and very distinct snort-laugh echo through the ship’s halls, muffled slightly by the closed door of Catra’s—really, _their_ room.

You and Glimmer both glance towards the source of the sound, then share a look. There’s a loud _THUMP_ followed by another round of Adora-snorts and that _giggle_ that you can’t even begin to reconcile with Force Commander Catra of The Evil Horde.

You share another long look with Glimmer, confirming that you’re on the same page, which means you don’t have to clarify what you mean when you nod towards the hall and quietly ask her:

“When did you realize?”

She faces forward again, letting her head fall back against the wall with a _thunk_ as she lets out a long, pensive huff of air through her teeth before she finally answers. “I think I always suspected Catra, a little. But for Adora, I think…sometime on Prime’s ship?” Your shoulders slump in relief at that; you weren’t all that far behind, then. “We would talk in secret, Catra and I. Back-to-back against my cell door. Or we thought it was in secret, anyway. I had no idea how important they were to each other before Adora defected. A lot of things suddenly made so much sense in retrospect.”

“Yeah.” You agree. “I think something clicked for me last night, like you said, everything suddenly just made _sense_. Or when Catra was, I mean.” _Dead. She was dead._ “When Adora healed her. And I realized everything she went through, the things she did that she’ll probably never even tell us about to get Catra back. Not even just from Prime, but all this time that we’ve been on opposite sides. I mean, I’m pretty sure She-Ra is back _because_ of Catra.”

“Not to mention the way Adora was holding her.” Glimmer raises a brow.

You nod emphatically. “Oh man, the way they were holding each _other—_ ”

“—also is no one gonna talk about how that’s definitely just _their_ room now—”

“—the constant checking in while Catra was recovering—”

“—and then ranting at us _nonstop_ when she finally woke up.” Glimmer throws her hands up. “Seriously. Insufferable. _‘Catra this, Catra that—’”_

You don’t miss the way your stomach flips because her words unknowingly echo Catra’s from last night, almost verbatim, but you also don’t miss a beat. “And the constant flirting—sorry," You toss up air quotes, “' _Wrestling_.’” 

“It’s _one-hundred percent_ flirting,” Glimmer growls as she slaps a hand to her forehead, then slowly drags it down her face with an over-dramatic groan. “And so is the banter, and all the insults, and it’s _infuriating_ to watch _,_ because,”

“Because they have no clue.” You finish for her with a snort.

She nods, eyes wide with good-natured exasperation. “I mean, Bow—”

You both immediately quiet when you hear _their_ bedroom door hiss open. You peek around the doorframe to see Adora walking out, her face just absolutely radiant with a rosy smile you’ve never even seen on her before. She spins on her heel and heads towards the bridge with a bounce in her step and a swing in her ponytail, oblivious to your eyes on her. You turn back to Glimmer once you’re sure she’s out of earshot, nodding for her to continue.

Her tone lowers to a whisper, and without even having seen the giddy Adora that you just saw, “Bow, I’ve _never_ seen her light up like this. Or even this new, like. _Spiciness_ ,” You muffle a snort at the strangely accurate word choice, “that Catra brings out in her and realizing that that’s always been a part of who she is…” There’s a faint trace of hurt in her expression of incredulity. “Honestly, it kind of makes me feel like…”

“Like you weren’t as close to her as you’d thought?” You supply with a breath of relief, finally putting words to what you’ve also been feeling.

“Or worse, like…” She nods, then bites her lip, guilty. “Like she’s been lying to us.”

“Well, we all know Adora can’t act to save anyone’s life.” You quickly assure her with a grin, which earns a _fair point_ raise of her brow. “I think…” You look towards the hall again as you hear Adora call, _“For the honor of Grayskull!”_ Immediately followed by a frustrated growl. “I think Adora is a lot better at pushing her feelings aside than any of us ever realized. Like, _scary_ a lot. Not so much lying to us as…”

“Lying to herself.” Glimmer finishes. “Yeah.”

A somber silence passes as this sinks in for both of you, the unspoken worry you share for your dear friend hanging between you, dense. Queasy.

Glimmer sighs, pushes off of the crate, and stands. She nods down at the folded material in her hands, then towards the hall. “Shall we?”

“Actually,” You bite your lip as you stand with her. “Could I do it, just me? Catra and I kind of had, I don’t know. A moment, last night, when everyone was asleep. I’ll tell her that we all helped put it together for her, obviously.”

Your heart starts _thudding_ at the way she smiles up at you, all soft fondness. Which is new. But also not. She steps towards you and if she hadn’t ducked her head at the last second to wrap her arms around you in a tight hug it would’ve felt all-too natural, instinctive even, to meet her in…well. You can think about that later.

She looks up at you then, considering you for a moment. “This was really sweet of you, you know.” You return a smile, feeling just about the last of any anger and hurt you had towards her melt away, replaced with familiar warmth.

* * *

You knock on the door gently. “Hey! It’s Bow!” You say, too loud, too cheerful. You wince.

The silence is long.

“…yes?”

“Uh, can I come in?”

Another long silence.

“Um…sure.”

Her face feigns a neutral disinterest as you enter but her flattened ears and curled tail give away her unease.

“This is for you, if you wanna try it on.” You say, scratching your brow as you carefully set the custom suit next to her. Her ears perk up as she looks down at the material, mouth dropping open as her tail swings free, brushing back and forth across the cot. “Last night I realized you don’t really have any clothes on board. We tried to make it close to what we've seen you wear before.”

“Oh.” She says simply, looking very small. Again, _so_ weird.

“Glimmer and Entrapta did most of the labor.” You quickly clarify, then jokingly puff out your chest, “But I was the fashion consultant.” 

Catra’s brow quirks the tiniest bit in response—a playful challenge. A wry thought strikes you, and you can’t help but rise to it: “I had Entrapta sew the Bright Moon crest across the back.” You motion with your fingers across your own back to illustrate. Catra’s eyes widen as she looks down at the still-folded suit. “You know, since you’re with the Princess Alliance and everything now.”

Her tail falls dead still. You almost feel bad when you keep going, struggling to maintain a straight face. _Almost._ “Used this really cool silver sequin-y material from an old dress that looks _so_ good against the red. Really pops.” You hear the simultaneous _pop_ of Catra’s claws puncturing the material of the cot. “Right underneath ‘Best Friends Squad’ in big, bold lettering.” You outstretch your hands as if placing the words in the air before you, watching as her steadily worsening expression of what you can only describe as _horror_ lasts for just a second longer before the realization that you’re messing with her wipes it away. 

She then looks up at you with the _least_ threatening accusatory glare that’s ever been directed at you in your life. There’s an annoyed ear twitch, a tail flick, and bared teeth as she starts to growl something before quickly snapping her mouth shut. She closes her eyes and breathes deep, once, clearly having just stopped herself from whatever she had been about to say.

An unexpected fondness for her rushes through you at the display, because she’s _trying._ You immediately drop the bit and adopt a tone of sincerity. “Let me know if it needs adjusting, fits weird, anything.” You shrug, “Or if you just think it’s straight-up ugly.”

Catra laughs at that, sudden and warm, she herself seemingly caught off-guard by the sound. She quickly clears her throat as she whips the suit up by its shoulders, letting it fall to its full length in front of her. Her expression flashes a certain reverence in the way she runs her eyes over the burgundy and charcoal material before she blinks it away into something neutral, nonchalant. She shoots a ghost of that accusatory glare up at you, then makes a performance of flipping the suit around and inspecting the back for any unwanted sequins. You snort.

She throws it over her shoulder and examines her claws, feigning boredom, “Whatever, It’ll work for now.” And it bites out just a little _too_ mean, a little further from the playful sarcasm you think she’d been aiming for; you can tell from the way her mouth presses in after she says it. Still, you offer another little smile as you step back out to give her some privacy. You can let it slide this time.

* * *

Later, Catra emerges in her new suit to join everyone now out on the main bridge. She wears it well, actually looking comfortable in her own skin for the first time—almost too comfortable—there's a shade of arrogance to how she wears it, as if daring anyone to comment on the change. No one does, which shockingly includes Entrapta, although she does spare Catra a quick nod and a little hum, pleased with her work, before immediately returning to…whatever it is she's doing to Wrong Hordak. Everyone also knows not to comment on the little flush Catra's grand entrance dusts over Adora's cheeks, although you think maybe you and Glimmer are the only ones to notice that part anyway.

You find yourself out on the bridge again later that night, when everyone has turned in. But once again apparently not, because you hear the barefoot, purposeful footfalls that are distinctly Adora long before she even reaches the entrance behind you. It’s a far cry from Catra’s slinking silence. You set your tracker pad facedown and turn to greet her with a knowing smile and crossed arms, leaning back against the control deck.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Numh-mm.” Adora shakes her head. “Gnigh-juffht—” She holds up a finger and you realize she's swallowing a mouthful of food, evidenced by the half-eaten steam bun in her hand. She tries again, a little sheepish, “No, I just got a little hungry. Want some? It’s the last one.”

You wave her off, “Nah. I’m sure we’ll be restocked on steam buns very soon.”

Adora snorts. “Yeah, three nights in a row…I mean they’re great, don’t get me wrong. But we might need a new recipe.”

She pads over to stand next to you, unceremoniously shoving the entirety of the rest of the bun into her mouth and wiping the grease from her hands onto her sleep shorts. Like an animal. She has the good sense to chew through and swallow most of her enormous bite before she speaks again, at least.

“I also thought you might be out here. Catra said you’ve been coming out here.” She messily wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, muffling a gross belch into her knuckles before she continues. “I wanted to thank you.” She ducks her head a little. “For making Catra’s suit.”

“Well, it was really Entrapta, but…”

“You know what I mean.” She elbows you gently, then turns to face you, her open expression one of heartfelt gratitude. Her next words spill out of her, all flailing hands and shifting stances, “Really, Bow. I know it was asking a lot, after everything. I don’t even think I realized just how much I _wanted—_ “ She shakes her head and rubs at her collarbone. “ _—_ for her to be _here._ On our side. At some point I think maybe—maybe it hurt too much to let myself hope but at the same time it’s like deep down I always knew. Like it was inevitable, y’know? Even when it seemed impossible, or like too much had happened. I _always_ knew she could make that choice and I knew the _second_ she did, whenever that ended up being, the circumstances wouldn’t even matter. I’d be ready, I was _always_ gonna be ready, I just had to wait, and—I know she has a lot to answer for, and _she_ knows that, trust me—but seeing you guys reach out to her, and make her feel…” She trails off of her ramble as her throat constricts her words and her eyes pool with tears. You immediately envelop her into a tight hug.

Her voice becomes small, then. Almost guilty, muffled into your shoulder. “And—Catra’s—I can tell that really meant a lot to her, the suit. Everything. Even if she never says it, I know she…it can be hard to see sometimes. But I know her, and—she’s really trying.” She ends in a whisper, “I’m so lucky to have you guys. I’m so lucky to have _you,_ Bow. Thank you.”

“We’re all lucky to have each other.” You choose your next words carefully, “I see how important you are to each other.” Her embrace tightens as you lighten your tone, “And you know what? I think The Best Friends Squad was always missing a little something. Like, sarcasm. Adds a little spiciness to the recipe.” She snorts into your shoulder, but you don’t miss the wetness of the sharp inhale that follows and the way she trembles through each breath as her fingers dig into your shoulders. You hold her through all of it.

“Recipe, huh? Maybe _you_ should be the one in charge of dinner.” She laughs through a sniffle before she finally pulls back. You give her shoulder a squeeze as she wipes under her eyes, then share a look and a scoff, like, _as if._ That’s all Glimmer—between not having her magic and the guilt you know she’s still feeling, you and Adora both know she needs something to feel like she’s contributing, even if it is making the same steam buns each night.

And Adora must have a sixth Catra sense or something because you didn’t notice a single sound or motion on the bridge to indicate there was anyone else there but she suddenly straightens and turns to the entrance, her eyes lighting up with a soft, “Hey.” Adora discreetly wipes at her eyes again.

“Hey Adora.” Catra says, gravelly with sleep but with a teasing lilt. She slinks over, donning one of Adora’s sleep shirts and boyshorts, just oversized on her more wiry frame. This time though, she wears Adora’s clothes with a confidence in her posture that would make you think they were hers if you didn’t already know better. You indulge the thought that maybe you had a part to play in that—that maybe giving her the suit somehow helped bring back that sense of self, of identity.

She nods to you as she approaches. “Arrow-boy.” You don’t object to the playful nickname, and smile in greeting. This, in combination with the fact that she nonchalantly leans against the deck to look out at the expanse not at Adora’s side, but next to _you_ , earns a poorly concealed and surprised eyebrow raise from Adora. 

Both you and Catra pretend not to notice.

“Guess none of us are sleeping quite normally these days, huh?” Catra says after a few moments; as she glances at Adora you feel the gently veiled _you okay?_

“This one had the midnight munchies.” You quickly gesture over to Adora, trying to divert from the weight of the conversation you just had with her judging from how hastily she’d wiped tears from her eyes just seconds ago. 

And you realize then just how vastly you underestimate the depth of their communication because they barely exchange a glance, a head tilt, and a tiny nod before Adora says, soft, reassuring, “Later.” Catra’s shoulders instantly release a tension you hadn’t even noticed. 

Adora sends you an appreciative smile as if to say _thanks anyway,_ then looks up at the stars again. “I _did_ have the munchies, though. Grabbed the last steam bun before I came out.”

Catra huffs, mock-affronted, “The last one? What if I wanted some?”

Adora whips back around, eyes wide. “I—you were asleep!” She rushes to defend with a panicked guilt that’s so very _her._

You play along, “None of us stood a chance. She choked down that whole bun in exactly two bites.”

Adora’s mouth drops open at you, all confused betrayal. “I thought you didn’t want any!”

“Oh but you asked _him,_ I get it.” Catra crosses her arms with a haughty whip of her tail.

“So inconsiderate, amirite?” You murmur to Catra, shaking your head.

Catra’s eyes share a bright twinkle of mirth with yours before she makes a show of sighing deeply with a resigned shrug as if saying _ah yes, that’s her: Inconsiderate Adora. What else could we possibly expect._

Which is, of course, patently untrue to everyone _except_ Adora.

“I—“ Adora crosses her arms with a huff, indignant throughout the rapid exchange for just a moment longer before it clicks, and she narrows her eyes. She can barely manage a glare for more than a few seconds as her eyes dart between the two of you; a goofy smile threatens to break free from her pursed lips.

Adora clears her throat and huffs again, closing her eyes and turning her nose up at both of you. 

“Well, you snooze, you lose.” A beat. “Literally.” She smirks, endearingly pleased with her own accidental cleverness.

“ _Two_ bites?” Catra whispers to you. “What kind of savage are we friends with?” 

Adora opens one narrowed eye at Catra. She hopelessly fails at hiding the goofy smile that you suspect is a direct result of the words _‘we,’_ and _‘friends.’_ Still, she makes an admirable effort to look indignant at being compared to a savage.

You shrug, “I always just assumed it was a Horde soldier thing, like they never bothered to teach table manners, or…” You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly realizing anything to do with The Horde might be a touchy subject.

Catra just throws her head back and laughs.

“Oh, that’s _absolutely_ an Adora thing. Girl couldn’t be taught etiquette even if they’d tried.”

Adora’s indignant expression becomes genuine and she huffs, “O _kay—_ “

Catra continues, “I literally can’t remember a time she wasn’t covered in dirt, blurting the first dumb thought that ran through her head—“

_“Hey!_ That’s—“

“— _always_ had food, like, on her clothes, on her face, in—“ Catra suddenly cuts short, then erupts into laughter so loud you actually duck out of fright.

_“What?”_ Adora demands, squaring towards Catra and placing clenched fists on her hips with a militant authority. You feel tense at being between them in the crossfire—Catra on the other hand isn’t intimidated in the slightest and just points and laughs harder.

“You—“ Catra wheezes, grabbing the deck for support. “You have— _right now.”_ She points back to her own chin. “There’s food on your face _now._ ”

Sure enough, there’s a light brown, oily streak from the steam bun filling on the side of Adora’s chin, even running down to her neck, trailing over a faded scar. The bridge is dark, so it’s not easy to see. You wouldn’t need light to know that Adora’s cheeks instantly flush as she wipes at her face, failing to actually clean the spot in question. Catra just keeps laughing mercilessly, and you can’t help but muffle a snicker as Adora scowls at both of you.

“ _Oh_ my—“ Catra practically has tears in her eyes as she rolls them, pushing off the deck and circling around you towards Adora. “You didn’t even get it.” She licks a thumb and reaches for Adora’s chin.

Adora backs up and swats her hand away, a grin starting to break through her scowl. Still she pouts, petulant, “Maybe I _want_ it there!”

“Shut up and hold _still,_ you idiot—” Catra _giggles_ and brackets Adora up against the panel who herself is rapidly losing the battle both to her own laughter and to Catra’s insistent hands as the two grab at one another’s wrists. “Just let me—ew, it’s down your _neck!_ You are— _OW!”_

“Volume!” You warn, suddenly conscious of the other people on the ship that are actually trying to sleep. Adora tries to muffle a snort through her hand, shooting you an apologetic look, giving Catra an opening and the upper hand.

“Always been—such a _slob!”_ Catra whispers through quieted snickers, locking both of Adora’s wrists in a firm grip, although Adora doesn’t seem to be doing much to fight it at this point.

Adora scoffs, “As if you were the _pinnacle_ of hygiene!” She wrenches one of her hands free and grabs Catra’s other wrist, twirling them around so Catra is pressed against the panel. “I seem to remember odor complaints in the barracks because _someone_ stopped showering for—“

Catra’s ears flatten. “I was _six!”_ She hisses, using the momentum of the twirl to try and pull Adora’s arm behind her back, only she ducks and spins out of the shoulder lock just in time, and as you watch all of this you think it isn’t even wrestling, really; they’re practically dancing. 

Adora looks back over at you again because, yes, you’re still here. “This one time,” She grins almost cruelly, “Kyle woke up the _entire_ barrack floor screaming because Catra had left a _mMMfgh—!“_

Catra whirls behind Adora lightning-quick and sharply slaps a hand over her mouth—this time successfully twisting her into that shoulder hold—no longer half-heartedly trying to subdue her opponent.

“Do _not_ finish that sentence.” She growls. For a second, she’s Scary Horde Catra again and you can’t help but flinch a little at the sight.

Adora just keeps laughing, completely unbothered, her snorts muffled through Catra’s hand. A few more seconds of this pass until Adora finally relents with a roll of her eyes and stops struggling. Catra cautiously removes her hand and releases her hold with a warning glare. 

Adora smooths out her tousled blonde hair, then throws her hands up in innocent surrender. “I’ll play nice.”

Catra grumbles as she grabs Adora by the shoulders and yanks her so they’re facing one another. “Now hold _still,_ you slob.”

Adora just hums and closes her eyes expectantly, still smiling as Catra reaches forward with her thumb, pauses, then raises the bottom hem of her shirt to wipe at the streak of grease instead.

Adora cracks one eye at the motion. “Sacrificing a clean shirt for a slob, huh?” She whispers, now smirking. “Must be because you _like_ me.”

You’re pretty sure Catra flushes as she mumbles, “It’s _your_ shirt, idiot.”

“Wasn’t a denial.” Adora whispers in a sing-song tone, raising a self-satisfied brow as she opens her eyes fully to meet Catra’s, whose hands immediately still at the curve of Adora’s jaw, faces _very_ close, still a little breathless from their little tussle—not to mention the fact that Catra’s shirt is pulled _very_ far up her stomach.

One of the airlocks must have malfunctioned because suddenly all of the air is sucked out of the room and you have to look somewhere other than these two girls locked in a _moment_ that they’re too dumb to even realize you’re totally intruding upon.

You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. The motion seems to break the spell and Catra rolls her eyes again, scrubbing at the rest of the grease on Adora’s neck, then unceremoniously shoving at her shoulder. Adora shoves her right back, both unable to hide their goofy little smiles.

You take this opportunity to try and escape, and yawn loudly. “Well, I’m beat.” You push off of the panel, picking up your tracker pad. “Gonna try and get some good rest in. We should be able to make contact tomorrow.”

Adora nods at this, a determined set of her jaw wiping away any trace of that goofiness. You feel a twinge of regret for making it disappear. “Probably a good idea.” Adora follows your lead but slows when she notices Catra walking towards the side window instead. The softness returns to her voice. “You coming?”

“I will, yeah. I’m gonna stay for a little longer. It’s…really peaceful out here.”

Your eyes widen and you turn to look back and sure enough, Catra’s eyes are on you, seated at her little perch, wearing a small, private smile. Not unsettling, or too silent—peaceful, like you’d said last night.

You smile back, nodding, “It is, isn’t it?”

“Especially at night.”

Your smile turns wry. “Well it’s not like there’s ‘day’ in space, so…”

“Eh,” Catra shrugs. “It’s whatever we make it.”

Adora looks at your fond smile, then back over at Catra, some mixture of confusion and delight written on her features at clearly having missed something.

“Well,” You nod, saluting both her and Adora as you turn, “Good ‘night,’ then.”

“Wait—“ Catra suddenly looks down, her ears flattening. You stop. “Thank you. For the suit.”

You can barely hear the rushed words, but she may as well have screamed them at you for the expression of open-mouthed awe that it elicits from Adora, who’s frozen to the spot. Catra shifts uncomfortably under both of your stares and turns to face the window. Her tail swings wildly over the window ledge.

“You’re welcome, Catra.” You say, warmly but quickly to avoid dragging her clear discomfort out any further, and turn back towards the entrance.

Behind you, Adora cuts the silence with a soft, “Actually, mind if I stay?”

“I mean, I _guess.”_ A raspy chuckle echoes down the hall, “Get up here, dummy.”

You’re trying to be quiet as you enter the bunk room, which turns out to be completely unnecessary—everyone is already very awake.

Entrapta rambles into her voice recorder, speech slightly slurred with sleep but crackling with her typical enthusiasm, _“—revised understanding of the nature of romantic attraction—“_

Glimmer is lying on her back, fists curling her pillow firmly over her face. Wrong Hordak, bless him, sits hunched in his own corner, rapt to Entrapta’s words. 

_“—statement made by close friend and fellow third party observer indicates that physical and verbal altercations between two individuals—in this particular scenario classified by said observer as ‘clueless idiots’—can be indicative of a romantic attraction. This kind of social behavior would appear counter to logical—“_

Glimmer lets out a muffled whine that becomes a full-volume groan as she flops her arms and pillow off of her face and out to her side. “Entrapta, do you have to do this _now?”_ She growls, _"Here?”_

Entrapta pauses, clicks a button on the voice recorder as she lowers it from her face, then, “I realize now that this may not be the best environment for me to perform a data log, since you probably want to go back to sleep. I’m sorry, Glimmer!” She chirps, somehow still appropriately remorseful. “I’ll finish up out on the main bridge—“

Your eyes widen, imagining all of the ways that could be _disastrous._ “No! No, you can stay.” At that, Glimmer finally meets your eyes with a withering glare and betrayed pout that you can’t help but just be completely endeared by. “Just try to keep it quiet and short, maybe?” You shrug in apology to Glimmer from the doorway as you make the suggestion.

“Sure thing!” Entrapta shrills. Glimmer redirects the glare to her. “I mean,” Entrapta lowers her voice to a whisper at the sight. _“Sure thing._ I just have a few more hypotheses to run through pertaining to the relationship between a subject's perceived intelligence, their actual intelligence, their emotional intelligence—which I’ll admit is a challenge to measure empirically—“

“Entrapta—“ You try to cut off her ramble. 

“—and their proclivity towards altercative flirtation—“ She turns to Wrong Hordak, who straightens, “Wrong Hordak, would you describe Catra and Adora’s behavior towards one another as ‘flirtatious?’”

“A-a…uh-uhhh—“

_“Yes.”_ You and Glimmer immediately interrupt in perfect unison. You quickly hold up a silencing hand before Entrapta can continue. “Entrapta, we _do_ want to go to sleep soon.”

“ _Back_ to sleep.” Glimmer corrects in a low growl, turning onto her side to face your empty cot. Still scowling adorably.

Entrapta’s eyes widen and she nods, making a zipper motion across her closed mouth with the end of one of her pigtails. You notice Wrong Hordak subtly mimicking the motion on himself with a quizzical expression.

You collapse face-down onto your cot as she hunches back over her voice recorder, continuing her log in an acceptably hushed tone.

“So.” Glimmer prompts, nodding towards the door. “More _wrestling?”_ She says lowly, the word ‘wrestling’ coming out a harsh hiss. You sigh dramatically over Entrapta’s continued chatter, then prop yourself up on an elbow to face Glimmer and her so-very-scary scowl. 

“Just a coupla clueless idiots.” You confirm with a grave nod. Glimmer lets out an exasperated but amused huff and shakes her head.

As if to punctuate the statement, the following sounds echo _very_ clearly through Darla’s halls in rapid succession: an Adora-yelp—a Catra-cackle which turns into a Catra-shriek, followed by an Adora-snort—a short pause, then—a softer Catra-giggle conclusion.

Glimmer rolls her eyes _hard_ towards the ceiling with a terse exhale but eventually she can’t help matching the little smile on your own face because it’s.

_So cute._

But also loud. 

And a little ridiculous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: [Caminante](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caminante/pseuds/caminante) went to the trouble of recording an absolutely incredible [Podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520151) for this chapter, and it's so so great. Please go check it out!
> 
> first of all, i just wanna say that I started this particular vignette before we all found 'Don't Go,' like how dare u noelle i wanted to explore those little inbetweens on mara's ship after save the cat. for that reason, i ended up cutting and changing a lot in order to 1. not retread already covered ground and 2. remain canon compliant if you are someone that chooses to see her one-shot as canon (i am). as a result, what was initially going to be angsty became a fun lil character study through bow's eyes and lowkey a wholesome glimbow oneshot?
> 
> also, bow is 100000% supportive and emotionally intelligent friend goals, and criminally underrepresented as such. i love writing in this boy's voice because he is a wholesome angel that lives devotedly for his friends moment-to-moment and we Do Not Deserve Him.
> 
> i also specifically wanted to explore bow's thought process in the transition between regarding catra as a former enemy that happens to mean a lot to one of his best friends, to someone he also considers a friend - and feels totally comfortable teasing.
> 
> Note - tags will be added as updates come; rating is indicative of future vignettes (lookin at you Shadow Weaver and Double Trouble).
> 
> Feedback and suggestions always welcome. hmu @ hedarey on tumblr if ye feel like it


	2. Perfuma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Perfuma places first in Let's Psychoanalyze Our Friends™ by a surprisingly small margin.

Maintaining a positive attitude isn’t _easy_. It’s hard work – harder work for Perfuma in particular than many of her friends even realize. She’s not lacking in self-awareness; she knows she’s not well-equipped to handle a planetary invasion in the same way as, say, Bow: eternally optimistic but still able to take necessary action where needed. Or Glimmer: quick to shift emotional states but even quicker to roll with the punches. And certainly not Adora: stubborn in her determination to succeed as if failure isn’t even on the table.

Which is why it was such a relief when the three of them returned and could take the weight of maintaining that hopeful spark off of her shoulders.

Here’s the problem: whatever positive attitude their return had restored in Perfuma is equally and consistently reversed by Catra’s presence.

At first, Catra would just kind of lurk quietly in the shadows with her new alien companion. Understandable. Frosta throwing an ice-encrusted fist into her face didn’t exactly signal the warmest of welcomes in the midst of so many happy reunions.

The tense, uneasy feeling in the bunker was palpable, but no one dared put words to it or act on the feeling out of respect for Adora. That stubbornness meant she was determined to have Catra be seen as part of the team, and no one was going to deny rightfully beloved, pure-hearted Adora.

With that, Catra has started to get comfortable. No, comfortable isn’t the right word. Perfuma suspects that Catra actually feels incredibly _uncomfortable,_ opting to hide that discomfort behind a thin veil of arrogance, snark, and smirking negativity.

It’s _exhausting,_ and Perfuma doesn’t _understand –_ and why _Catra_ of all people – and very much resents these simmering feelings of anger and exasperation that are now constants as a result.

She takes a long, calming breath and closes her eyes for a moment in an attempt to re-engage with the conversation at hand; it’s something she’s had to do a lot now that Catra’s around.

“I must say, it _was_ quite the soiree before everything descended into chaos.” Sea Hawk regales through a mouthful of rations. Adora and Catra sit next to him, leaning back against one of the fallen catwalks with their own rations, forming a seated circle along with Perfuma, Netossa, Frosta, and Glimmer.

“Who knew Scorpia had such a set of _pipes?_ All that time we could have spent performing shanties together – the sheer stage presence!” He lets out a dramatic noise of distraught.

Perfuma breaks into a bright smile at the thought, despite her grief. “You’ll get the chance to sing with Scorpia soon, Sea Hawk. I know it.”

“Scorpia was _singing?_ On a _stage?”_ Catra scoffs, taking a small bite of her own ration bar before muttering, “Brave of her.”

Catra’s derisive tone wipes the bright smile clean off of Perfuma’s face, the briefly restored positive attitude disappearing along with it.

“It _was_ brave.” She asserts with a hard stare. “Because for _some_ reason she seemed to think she was a bad singer.”

Adora’s brows raise at the sharp, accusatory tone, her cheeks endearingly puffed out with a mouthful of rations. She turns and narrows her eyes at Catra.

Catra’s ears downturn and she glances away from the shared scrutiny. “Look, I never told her she was _bad_ ,” She defends in a murmur, “I just told her I didn’t want to listen to it, okay? Try having ears this sensitive and then you can talk – ”

“Hi, excuse me!” Swift Wind calls from across the bunker. “You guys got to _sing_ at your mind-controlled party, and you didn’t invite me?”

The thought of Swift Wind blending in and attempting espionage, covert behavior, or subtlety of any kind is laughable. Glimmer clearly thinks as much and fails to muffle a snort as Netossa calls back, “I’m not sure they could’ve kept a low profile with you there, Swift Wind.”

This elicits several hums of agreement among the circle. Perfuma sends him a sympathetic smile and he cocks his head good-naturedly, “Yeah, okay.”

Catra smirks, “Kinda sounds like they couldn’t keep one anyway.”

Perfuma’s smile disappears _again_ at Catra’s snide tone, and the anger boils over enough that the words burst from her high-pitched and tremoring, “You think you would have done better?” The uncharacteristic display startles everyone in the group, including Perfuma herself.

The problem is, Catra doesn’t know Perfuma well enough to know how much she’s rattled her – or more likely just doesn’t care – and rises to the challenge without hesitation, her smirk widening, “Uh, _duh._ I’m sorry, did you forget about Princess Prom? I’m offended – that was some of my best work.”

The comment earns a glare from Frosta.

Perfuma’s voice starts to go embarrassingly shrill, _“We were trying to help you – “_

“Yeah, _super_ helpful. Maybe next time you should – ”

“Catra.” Adora warns gently, effectively silencing her.

Deep breath. One. Two – simmer down – three.

Catra sees Adora’s expression and the barest amount of shame crosses her features as she glances around the circle, seeing traces of the same admonishing expression on just about everyone’s faces.

“Look,” Catra still snaps, defensive. “Excuse me if I’m a little frustrated that we’re down _three_ Princesses because you all just _had_ to go to these parties that were crawling with chipped civilians. Like, are you kidding me?”

Six – eyes closed – seven. Eight. Inner Peace.

“Catra, they didn’t know.” Adora cuts through the now tense silence. Perfuma opens her eyes to be met with Adora’s apologetic ones, which earns a terse smile, because while she appreciates the sentiment, Perfuma can’t help her feelings of resentment. After all, it’s because of _Adora’s_ choices that Catra’s terrible attitude is something everybody now has to contend with. Constantly. And on Adora’s end apparently take responsibility for, seemingly without qualm.

Perfuma wonders then if her frustration has less to do with Catra’s negative energy itself, and more to do with her unsuccessful grasps for some kind of explanation. Because she just doesn’t _understand_. _Why Catra?_

Adora makes a circular gesture between Glimmer, Entrapta across the bunker, herself, and the entrance to indicate Bow, who’s currently on watch. “ _We_ didn’t even know mind control was in Prime’s arsenal until…”

“Until me – yeah, yeah.” Catra’s eyes flit up to Perfuma’s. Quickly, and with a clearly strained effort, she grumbles, “Sorry.” Adora’s eyes soften as she watches the display, which somehow makes Perfuma’s anger worse. “I just…” Catra shakes her head in disbelief, her eyes bordering on accusatory as she glances around the circle. “I just have a hard time believing _none_ of you noticed what was happening to your friends.”

Netossa’s expression is defensive, but her almost broken tone betrays her misplaced guilt, “I lost sight of Spinny for a few minutes, tops.” She ducks her head, quieter, “I even gave her a hard time about leaving me alone at parties. She seemed normal at first.”

Glimmer places a comforting hand on Netossa’s shoulder. Perfuma hums, sympathetic, but her attention is still trained on Catra through her periphery. Her mismatched eyes stay narrowed, as if she doesn’t believe the story. Then there’s a sharp hiss of an inhale as some kind of realization makes her go rigid; behind her, Perfuma notices the color of Melog’s mane suddenly shifting from cool blues and gentle curves to bright, agitated warm tones and sharp lines. They begin to pace near the circle, restless.

Some equivalent realization simultaneously spurs Adora to subtly place a hand on Catra’s shoulder, prompting her to meet her gaze. “Hey?” She whispers, and their eyes lock.

Catra’s whispered answer comes out halting and fragmented, “Prime, he didn’t – with them – when he…” She trails off, but Adora just nods solemnly, understanding, and squeezes her shoulder. Perfuma is openly watching their exchange now, and that’s when she starts to _get_ it.

Past conversations with Scorpia rush to the forefront of her thoughts, all separate threads of a tapestry not yet formed.

_… no matter how hard I tried I was never enough …_

_… as soon as I’d feel like we were starting to get close …_

_… obsessed with taking Adora down …_

_… chasing after her …_

Even before Scorpia left to join the rebellion and told Perfuma about she and Catra’s friendship – if it could even be called that – there were suspicions _._ Scorpia’s openness about her own broken heart over Catra all but confirmed it on Catra’s side.

Adora, on the other hand – Perfuma searches her memories for precious threads to fill out that part of the tapestry.

_– charged tension during a Princess Prom dance –_

_… she knows everything about me …_

_… we ran into Catra and her fancy new suit …_

– _a flushed confrontation with Double Trouble –_

Those threads are few and far in between, so she brings her mind back to the present, because the longest and most important thread so far is unspooling right now, before her very eyes. Perfuma watches this soft moment, sees the kind of wordless communication that only comes with years of intimacy and familiarity, and – _feelings –_ and she feels the temperature of that simmer go down a few degrees. Seeing Adora like this with _Catra_ of all people is especially staggering.

Perfuma doesn’t have the chance to continue processing whatever _like this_ even means _,_ because Glimmer also notices the little moment they’re having. “What is it?” She asks, eyes darting between the two girls.

Melog’s mane slowly gradients back into that gentle blue state as they slow their pacing to a stop, licking at their paws. Catra gives Adora a tiny nod before breaking her gaze and turning to the circle, demanding everyone’s attention with her suddenly loud and flippant tone, “Well, there’s good news and bad news.”

“Catra’s experience getting chipped was... a little different.” Adora starts, concerned eyes still on Catra.

“By ‘different’ she means while I was being chipped I was also being drowned and electrocuted.” She laughs sharply, an unsettling and hollow sound. “And getting my hair styled. Just felt like a change, y’know?”

Melog’s mane starts to turn warm again. They sniff along the ground, agitated.

_Oh._

It’s the same snark, the same smirking negativity. It’s not just a mask for her unease; she also uses it to hide her trauma.

Perfuma feels her heart soften towards Catra at the realization, and the simmer stills altogether. She also makes a point to start watching Melog’s behavior more closely.

Everyone in the circle is now tense with discomfort at the joke – except Adora, who rolls her eyes at Catra with an odd mixture of concern, endearment, and chiding. Catra mockingly rolls hers in return, _“So,”_ She turns back to the circle, “The good news is if I can come out of _that_ mostly unscathed, your – _our_ friends are probably gonna be just fine.”

“We can at least feel better knowing they aren’t... that they aren’t – “

“Being tortured.”

Adora presses her lips together before continuing, “The _bad_ news is that means the mind control mechanism could be different. We might not be able to effectively apply the strategy we used to free Catra with Mermista, Scorpia, and Spinnerella.”

Catra bursts out laughing suddenly, but it’s not that hollow sound – she’s genuinely amused. Melog is blue again, head tilted and looking at Adora. _“Strategy?”_

Adora frowns, “Yes, _strategy.”_

Catra glances around the circle as if sharing a secret, “Don’t listen to her, she had absolutely _no_ plan and can’t strategize to save her _– “_

“Excuse you, I’m a great strategist and you know it.” Adora huffs, dusting ration crumbs from her knees, then crossing her arms.

“Uh, yeah, when we were _cadets_. You can place first in Strategic and Tactical Maneuvers all you want and still be a total idiot in the field.”

“Well then you can also be a total _slacker_ in Strategic and Tactical Maneuvers and still be a brilliant military strategist in the field.” Adora counters as if it’s an insult, seemingly unaware that it very much is, well, not.

“I’m – “ Catra narrows her eyes, likely thinking the same thing, just as her cheeks darken.

Adora’s brow is quirked, the hint of something smug pulling at the corners of her mouth. Oh, she’s aware. Another thread.

Catra clears her throat and continues. “I’m just saying, don’t act like that success was anything but a complete freak accident.” Melog licks at their paws near Adora; their tail swipes back and forth along the floor, brushing Adora’s knee every so often. Catra sighs, clicking her tongue. “Typical Adora, diving into danger headfirst without a real plan.”

“Well it’s still a plan that worked.” Her scowl is clearly just an act at this point. “So I’m gonna need to hear a _‘thank you for saving me from Horde Prime, Adora’_ to make up for those very hurtful comments.” Adora cups a hand up to her ear, expectant.

Catra rolls her eyes as she adopts a faux distressed damsel voice. “’Oh, _thank_ you for saving me from Horde Prime, Adora. Also,’” Her tone returns to normal as she deadpans, “Your plans are terrible.”

Adora ignores the last part and puffs out her chest, “Of course, Catra. It was my pleasure.”

“Hey, focus.” Glimmer interrupts with two finger snaps. There’s a practiced exasperation behind the action that indicates she’s done it before, and Perfuma makes a mental note to seek her out individually later. The gesture effectively ends the, well. The _flirting_ , and the two girls straighten, directing their attention back to the group.

Netossa wears a bewildered yet knowing look that’s probably very close to the expression on Perfuma’s face. Sea Hawk is aggressively oblivious, and Frosta is too young to pick up on anything.

Glimmer gets the conversation back on track, “Catra’s chip was damaged during the fight, but didn’t you say you were able to get through to her even before that?”

Adora nods, jaw set, the playfulness gone. “Yes. Catra definitely had at least one lucid moment before – “

“Before you flung me across the platform and bashed the back of my neck against the stairs?” Adora rolls her eyes at Catra’s interruption. “Look, even if I did – “

“You did.”

_“Whatever._ It’s – ”

“I got through to Spinny.” Netossa cuts in, silencing them. “It was her. It was only five seconds, but it was her.”

Adora nods and leans forward, her eyes sparkling with the very particular kind of excited that she gets when she’s cooking up battle strategies. “Okay, we might be onto something.”

“I’ll grab Bow.” Glimmer says, and two bursts of sparkles later he’s settled next to Glimmer. Swift Wind sighs as he rises from his spot and trots out, recognizing this as his cue to take Bow’s place on watch duty. “Chip neutralization strategies.” Glimmer quickly explains to Bow, who nods.

“Tell us everything that happened up to those five seconds.” Adora prompts.

“I...” Netossa ducks her head, uncharacteristically shy. “I told her I loved her. I begged her to come back to me.”

The bunker falls silent, and Perfuma’s chest blooms with hope at her words. Going into combat and having to hurt innocent people, hurt her friends – hurt _Scorpia –_ these are all things she’s been dreading having to deal with. But maybe none of them will have to. She begins to voice these thoughts, “Maybe we don’t have to fight our friends at all – “

“That is _not_ a viable strategy.” Catra stops that train of thought firmly.

The simmer returns, clearly not altogether stilled. Perfuma frowns, “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“But I already know where you’re going, I mean, look at you.” She gestures to Perfuma’s form – the flowers, vibrant colors, the flowing material. “You’re practically dripping with hippie-dippy ‘stop the violence’ energy.”

Okay, _definitely_ not stilled. “Violence _doesn’t_ have to be the answer. Love is – “

Catra rolls her eyes and sneers, “See? She’s about to suggest we hedge all our bets on the power of love or some equally stupid – “

“I don’t know, Catra.” Glimmer cuts in. “After what Netossa said, I think it’s worth – “

“Sparkles, I don’t think you understand.” She seethes. Melog’s mane grows warm again as her voice steadily raises, eyes darting around the circle. “None of you do. Five seconds of being lucid thanks to,” She throws up air quotes and adopts a mocking tone, “’ _the power of love’_ doesn’t change the fact that at every _other_ second, Prime can make you do anything he wants. Anything. You _will_ hurt people you care about. You might even hurt yourself. He made me fight Adora, he made me throw myself off of that platform, and all I could do was just watch it happen.”

Melog is crimson now, chest rumbling in a low, dangerous growl.

Glimmer is dumbstruck. “The – the platform as in his throne room? Catra, I – “ She looks to Adora. “That’s why – she was – when we carried her onboard – “

“I was dead.” Catra says flatly. “That fall critically injured me and I died.”

Everyone stills as this revelation sinks in. Catra’s shaky breaths and Melog’s growl are the only sounds that fill the space.

“Catra’s right.” Adora finally says, diverting from the topic. Her eyes have been fixed on Catra’s profile throughout the exchange with concern, guilt, regret. That hand has returned to her shoulder. “We can’t build our entire strategy around something so unreliable. _But,”_ She tilts her head towards Netossa and then Perfuma in acknowledgement, “Five seconds _is_ a long time in combat. At the very least, we can use a window like that to our advantage as a diversion – “

“That’s how you summoned She-Ra.” Bow breathes, eyes wide with realization, and then – excitement? “Isn’t it? That’s when it happened?”

Adora whips her head around at him.

Glimmer brightens as well. “I _knew_ it!”

Adora sputters, “I – “

Glimmer continues, inappropriately gleeful and completely indelicate, “You saw Catra fall to her death and realized the only way to save her was with She-Ra’s healing powers!” She points at Catra as if she’s just caught her red-handed. “ _You_ brought She-Ra back!”

“Settle down, Sparkles.” Catra grumbles, but her pink-tinged cheeks betray her. Perfuma searches for Melog, thinking they’ve disappeared until she sees that they’ve just darted behind the fallen catwalk, form much smaller than usual, a matching soft pink barely peeking around the side. Hiding.

Glimmer turns back to Adora, grinning smugly. “Right?”

But then her grin falters, because Adora has that face – that nervous, wide-eyed, bad-at-acting face when the gears in her head are turning full-speed to try and think of how she can talk her way out of something, which is pointless because Adora can’t really talk her way out of anything _._

“Oh, uh – I – yeah!” Catra’s gaze immediately snaps up at the sound of Adora’s stammering. She pointedly avoids meeting Catra’s wide and demanding eyes. “Yeah, that’s-ah – what happened, uh,” A dorky chuckle. She winces at herself and tugs at her collar. “Definitely…” Not a soul here believes her. Poor thing looks like she wants to crawl into a hole.

“Spit it out.” Catra snaps.

Adora sighs and closes her eyes, then lowers her voice as if she can get away with only Catra hearing. “I sort of… jumped after you?” She cracks one eye open at Catra with a wince.

Oh. Oh wow _._

“You…” Catra’s voice is lowered now as well – as if everyone there isn’t hanging on every word of this exchange. Even Entrapta is peering curiously over whatever work she’s doing on Emily.

“I transformed after. At the bottom. After I saw – ”

“You _jumped_ after her?” Glimmer growls dangerously, a jarring shift from the self-satisfied delight she exhibited seconds before. “That fall literally killed Catra and you just _jumped. After. Her?”_

Netossa lets out a low whistle.

Adora speaks at a normal volume now, scrambling to defend herself over the rising chatter, “I didn’t _know_ how bad her fall was gonna – “

Glimmer’s voice rises in pitch and volume, “Oh _please_ , I’ve seen that platform. You can’t even see the bottom!”

Sea Hawk’s, “A boldly heroic endeavor if I do say!” is ignored.

Bow is horrified, “But you knew you’d be able to transform, right?” The question quiets everyone, and the following silence is long, dense, and very telling.

Adora bites her lip, “I mean, not _technically_ , I – “

“ _YouuwwwWHAT?”_ Glimmer bellows.

“I mean – !” Adora sputters, “I don’t know! I think I always felt her there, and deep down – “

“What were you _THINKING?”_

“Adora, that was _so_ reckless.” Bow shakes his head. “Did you hurt yourself when – “

“Of _COURSE she did_ , _I’VE SEEN THAT PLATFORM.”_

“Guys,” She laughs nervously, “It doesn’t matter, okay? I’m fine now, I – “

“Adora.” Bow scolds. “Did you?”

Another long, telling silence.

She mutters her nervous response through her teeth, barely audible, “… _Imighthavebrokenmylegs…”_

Oh. Oh _wow._

Now it’s Bow’s turn to bellow, “You _WHAT?”_

“That must’ve hurt so bad!” Frosta exclaims with the inappropriate excitement of a pre-teen, completely missing what exactly makes this revelation so significant.

Sea Hawk, equally – though significantly less excusably – oblivious: “Tough as nails, our Adora!”

Glimmer’s furious shrills are incoherent at this point – meanwhile Adora has given up trying to defend herself from the cacophony of angry reprimands, her cheeks now tinged that soft pink that Catra’s were just moments ago. And Catra – well she’s been stock-still, rendered wide-eyed and dumbstruck, staring at Adora throughout the entire exchange – until suddenly she isn’t.

“You are…” Catra starts, low and hoarse, her tone not quite readable. The sound of her voice begins to silence the chaotic bickering among the circle. “The _stupidest_ person I’ve ever met, in my entire life. Ever.” Melog emerges from behind the catwalk, now glowing a bright teal, and settles next to Adora. She absently reaches out to scratch behind the giant cat’s ears, which probably helps to distract her from the fact that every pair of eyes in the bunker is trained on her. “Probably the biggest idiot on this whole planet.” Catra scoffs, but there’s nothing mean-spirited about the way she speaks, even if the words are unkind at face-value. “And,” She continues, her teasing intent now explicit, “I reserve the right to give you a hard time about this for the rest of our lives.”

Perfuma raises a brow at _that_ phrasing, which seemingly flies right over Adora’s head – or maybe it doesn’t, noting the goofy little smile that has bloomed across her still-flushed face.

Adora finally finds her voice and quips, “Okay, first of all, you haven’t met _everyone_ on Etheria, so…”

Catra is full-on smiling now, “Oh I don’t need to, and actually,” Melog purrs into Adora’s hand as Catra starts to giggle. Catra. _Giggling._ “Now that I’ve been to space I think I can confidently say you might be the biggest idiot in the entire _universe._ ”

Adora snorts. “Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Catra.”

“No, I mean it. And before we wipe the floor with Prime’s smarmy little face, I’m going to ask him personally. Guy’s been around a _really_ long time. I bet he knows.”

Adora finally meets Catra’s eyes, raising a brow. “You’ll have to shut him up first.”

Catra hisses through her teeth, playing along. “Oof, _that’s_ never going to happen.”

They’re both giggling now. “Bummer,” Adora performs a wistful sigh. “Guess we’ll never know for sure.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Catra flicks a piece of her short hair, feigning nonchalance. “ _I_ know for sure.”

“Oh and you – ah!” Melog steps over Adora’s knees and headbutts her – rather roughly – in a nuzzle. Adora laughs as she’s shoved practically into Catra’s lap, “You think you just – know everything, huh – “

_“AUUUUUUGHHHHHHH!”_ Glimmer’s sudden, blood-curdling scream rips through the bunker, violently startling everyone. Both Melog and Catra actually hiss in response. _“WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?”_ She bellows as she stands abruptly with her head thrown back, pulling at her hair with another exasperated cry.

Swift Wind pokes his head through the canopy at the entrance, alarmed and confused as Glimmer literally stomps over to the war table. Bow sets his tracker pad down, chewing his lip as he watches her performance; it’s equal parts nervous wince and biting back an endeared smile.

Catra glares at her retreating form, ears flattened from the sudden noisy outburst. “Okay, Sparkles, enough with the dramatics.”

Glimmer whirls around and points at her from behind the war table, and the level of accusatory rage on display would make anyone think Catra had committed nothing short of murder. “No, _you_ enough!” She slams a fist down loudly with a small burst of purple sparks. _“Both of you!”_

Catra narrows her eyes as Adora sits upright and furrows her brows, “Wha – ?“

Bow laughs awkwardly, his voice cracking, _“Oh-_ kay! Why don’t we just – “ He isn’t given a chance to finish, because Glimmer teleports over, grabs his arm roughly, and they both suddenly disappear in an eruption of sparkles.

Perfuma blinks.

Another angry burst of shimmering purple and they both re-appear for just long enough that an apologetic-looking Bow can pick up his forgotten tracker pad and gesture to the entrance with a, “We’ll just be right outs – “ before they’re gone.

Sea Hawk starts making this nervous, high-pitched whining sound.

Glimmer suddenly appears _again_ in the middle of the circle – Catra barely has time to squeak in surprise and growl, “Oh, come _on._ ” Before Glimmer cuts her off with a glare, points at the war table, and seethes to the entire circle, _“Ten minutes.”_ and disappears. Again.

Perfuma waits several moments before she relaxes her shoulders, confident that the rapid series of fright-inducing appearances has ended.

The following silence is awkward, but it finally gives Perfuma some space to reflect on everything she just witnessed. And, wow. _Wow._ It’s – it’s completely ridiculous. This whole time – this _whole time?_ A giggle bubbles up through her throat before she can stop it.

Catra narrows her eyes at her, but Perfuma can’t even find it in herself to care. If anything, she evenly meets her gaze, challenging and _knowing._ Maybe even a little smug.

Up until five minutes ago, Perfuma had been slowly collecting and weaving threads to form that tapestry of understanding, angry and frustrated that it didn’t seem to be coming together. Those five minutes and a few staggering revelations later and suddenly hundreds of vibrant threads are thrust upon her, unspooling and rapidly assembling at a manic and industrial speed. She can barely keep up.

“What’s _her_ deal?” Frosta breaks the silence.

Adora stares wide-eyed at where Glimmer stood moments ago, shaking her head. “I … don’t know.”

Another giggle threatens to bubble up at Adora’s genuine confusion, because Perfuma can’t believe how _clueless_ – and then she suddenly understands Glimmer’s need to immediately remove herself from the situation and also remembers that she and Bow said they’d be right outside. She stands, casually dusting off her dress and ignoring the suspicious look Catra is still sending her way, “I think we’re all just under a lot of stress.” Perfuma hums airily.

Netossa looks up at the movement, and there’s a tight-lipped expression on her face that indicates she’s just gone through a similar internal journey. “Yeah, she probably just needs to blow off some steam.”

“Hm.” Perfuma strides over and offers a hand to Netossa, then subtly nods towards the bunker entrance, a wordless invitation. They share a look. Netossa nods and takes the hand, hoisting herself up.

Netossa turns back, “Ten minutes?”

Adora just nods dumbly.

“We’ll be back.” Perfuma chirps. She tries to sound nonchalant, because Catra is _still_ watching her.

Perfuma can barely contain herself, but she has no sense for how much more sensitive Catra’s hearing may actually be, so she ignores Netossa’s expectant eyes on her profile, staying silent for the agonizingly slow walk to the entrance.

Halfway to the entrance they hear Sea Hawk, with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, “My, Adora, that giant space cat sure has taken a shine to you.”

Perfuma allows herself to share a wide-eyed look with Netossa, who has to sharply clap a hand over her mouth to muffle a snort.

Not even two seconds later, “I can’t believe you broke both legs! Did you get to see your own _bones?”_

_“What?_ Frosta, _no_ – “

They have to scurry the rest of the way to the entrance before their muffled snickering can give them away completely.

They duck through the canopy – Swift Wind eyes them suspiciously – and beeline towards Glimmer and Bow once they see them standing close and whispering to one another several paces into the forest.

_“…_ wouldn’t even be that _mad_ about her being so reckless if they weren’t both still just _completely_ oblivious – “

“Glimmer.” Bow cuts her off once he notices Perfuma and Netossa approaching.

Glimmer turns and quickly composes herself. “Hey!” She laughs nervously. “Sorry about that, in there. I, uh – “

“So,” Netossa warily glances over at Swift Wind, then ducks her head and matches Glimmer’s previous whispering tone. “Was anyone planning to tell me Adora and Catra are head over heels for each other, or was I just supposed to figure that out myself?”

Perfuma finally lets that giggle bubble up, Bow snorts, and Glimmer gapes between Netossa and Perfuma a few times before she closes her eyes. The following sigh is a strange mixture of relief and exasperation, and she presses her hand to her forehead.

“You guys don’t even _know._ ”

“It’s _so_ ridiculous.” Bow supplies.

“But it makes so much sense!” Perfuma bounces on her toes, almost giddy with the familiar catharsis that comes with a successful emotional revelation. “This whole time!”

Netossa suddenly becomes almost accusatory towards Bow and Glimmer, “Yeah, _this whole time,”_ With the implication that they knew.

And, oh – Perfuma hadn’t considered that, and her giddy feeling stills. As perceptive towards people as she prides herself on being, she’s nowhere near as close to Adora as Bow and Glimmer are. They must have known _something._

Netossa takes it a step further as she continues, placing her hands on her hips, “Kind of an important piece of intel when she was our enemy, don’t you think?”

Bow and Glimmer’s eyes widen in panic as they start to sputter out sincere reassurances with flailing gestures, and Perfuma’s giddy feeling returns out of relief. The two trip charmingly over their words, their whispers indistinguishable from one another’s and only a handful of phrases even understandable as they rush to explain:

“ – really had _no_ idea – didn’t see it until we rescued – talking to Catra on Prime’s ship – their bizarre way of flirting – practically _married_ – figured it out way sooner if – never let on just how close – but Adora’s so hard to read – “

“Oh, please.” Swift Wind loudly interrupts the frantic whispering from across the clearing. “She is _not_ hard to read.”

Four heads whip around to look at him. Glimmer glances at the bunker entrance nervously, then narrows her eyes at him and yell-whispers, “Eavesdrop much?”

Swift Wind rolls his eyes and trots over to join them. “In case you forgot, I’m a horse. So, not only is my hearing way better than yours, but I can’t exactly cover my own ears.” His voice gradually lowers to the same whispering volume as he approaches the circle. “So, if you didn’t want me to hear all that venting about Adora and Catra being in love, you should’ve gone farther away. Not my fault.”

Swift Wind’s casual tone is met with four dumbfounded expressions as he enters the circle between Netossa and Bow.

Netossa raises a brow, _“You_ knew?”

He rolls his eyes again, “Hello, sacred bond? Of course I knew.” He clears his throat. “As I was saying, Adora wears her heart on her sleeve. We all would’ve known if she thought she was in love with Catra this whole time.”

“I’m confused,” Glimmer crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes, “Now you’re saying Adora _wasn’t_ completely in love with Catra all along?”

“No, no. I said if she _thought_ she was. She completely is, one-hundred percent, no question.”

“She just won’t let herself feel it.” Bow supplies quietly. He and Glimmer share a meaningful look.

“ _Oh_.” Perfuma breathes, her eyes widening as a new thread unspools, and it’s one that indicates the final form of that tapestry – now she just has to weave it in. “I was trying to figure out why I’d never gotten any indication on her side until just now.”

“We were confused about that too.” Bow nods to the sky. “On our way back.”

“I think,” Perfuma hums contemplatively, carefully gathering her thoughts as she begins to process her realization externally, “I think Adora has some unhealthy self-sacrificial tendencies because of her duties as She-Ra.” She places a finger to her chin. “She doesn’t feel like she has a choice but to push her personal feelings aside for what she sees as a bigger cause, and she’s good enough at compartmentalizing and maybe even full-on emotional suppression that she’s been able to bury her feelings for Catra this whole time.”

Glimmer and Bow share another look as they nod along.

“And she has no idea that Catra feels the same way because she always takes people for their word, and, well,” Perfuma allows herself a small eyeroll, “ _Catra_ doesn’t exactly express her feelings in the most honest or _kind_ way, so she’s never believed she had any good reason to unearth those feelings for her.”

Swift Wind tilts his head thoughtfully as Perfuma continues.

“Meanwhile Catra’s insecurities, _oh,_ ” Perfuma suddenly remembers Scorpia’s comments about Catra at the shock of seeing Shadow Weaver in Bright Moon, which feels like forever ago. She claps her hands together as her tone becomes inappropriately excited considering the subject matter, “and abandonment issues! And probably all _kinds_ of traumatic experiences growing up in the Horde – which I suppose would apply to Adora, too – “

Bow gently scolds under his breath, “…none of which is really our place to – ” but Perfuma is too delighted to _finally_ be figuring this out that she doesn’t stop.

“…all prevent Catra from clearly seeing just how deeply Adora cares about her, or at least that the way she cares really isn’t the same as how she cares about all of us, so she tries her best to act detached and hides her feelings behind insults and sarcasm!”

“And wrestling.” Glimmer deadpans with a pointed look at Bow, who muffles a laugh with his hand.

Netossa snorts, “Not if that giant alien cat has anything to say about it.”

Glimmer throws her head back with a sharp, quick laugh.

Swift Wind snickers, “So true.”

“So, all of that adds up to a perfect storm of wildly misconstrued words and actions, a series of miscommunications spanning years,” Perfuma clasps her hands together in conclusion with satisfied hum, “And here we are.”

Bow shakes his head and sighs, “And here we are.”

It’s silent for several long moments as everyone stews in Perfuma’s summary of the situation.

“Do you think…” Perfuma eventually breaks the silence, biting her lip. “Maybe we should try and help them – “

“Comrades!” Sea Hawk’s theatrical call echoes through the clearing. “It’s – oh.” He notices the impromptu huddle, quickly peeks behind him through the canopy entrance, then over-exaggeratedly tiptoes across the clearing to join the circle. “What kind of scheme are we cooking up over here, friends?”

Perfuma exchanges a worried look with Bow – this could very quickly get out of hand.

“Oh we’re just talking about Adora’s repressed love for Catra.”

_“Swift Wind!”_ Glimmer hisses, slapping her palm to her forehead.

Against all expectations, Sea Hawk just cocks his head and strokes his chin with a thoughtful hum, “The word ’repressed’ feels a touch extreme, perhaps. But without question, our girl has buried her feelings under some serious denial.”

Perfuma almost feels dizzy at the fact that _Sea Hawk_ of all people can see what’s going on. “ _You_ know, too?”

Netossa holds up a finger before anyone can say anything else. “Let me see if I have this right. The only people here that don’t know that Adora and Catra are in love … are _Adora and Catra?”_

Sea Hawk addresses Netossa first, “I do believe Frosta is blissfully unaware in her youth. I also think she wouldn’t give a flying fish’s toot either way. And,” He turns to Perfuma with an offended frown, “I consider myself something of an expert in the matter of love affairs in which one or both parties has tried to kill the other.” He clenches a fist, then pulls it to his chest in a dramatic display. “Their tension – the sheer _chemistry_ of it all – was always clear as day to old Sea Hawk.”

Glimmer’s face is in now her hands. “I can’t believe this.” She groans.

“Now,” Sea Hawk glances over his shoulder. “Not to spoil the fun, but I _did_ come out here for a reason.”

Glimmer sighs, “Guess I should’ve said twenty minutes, huh.”

“Indeed.” Sea Hawk twirls his moustache between two fingers. “It also rings a tad odd for so many of us to be out here at once. I told our rightfully suspicious yet wholly oblivious duo that I was joining Swift Wind on watch. Our feline friend in particular looks rather wary.”

Bow nods, “We should go in before one of them comes out.”

Glimmer’s groan is cut off mid-teleport, having grabbed Bow and disappeared.

Netossa’s shoulders jump before she grumbles, “I don’t know how Bow is ever going to get used to that, and also,” She gives Perfuma an unimpressed look. _“They_ have a lot of nerve to be complaining about two people that don’t know they’re already married.”

A small smile twitches at the corner of Perfuma’s lips as she shrugs. “Maybe that’s why she’s so irritated.”

When they make their return into the bunker – a minute or two later to avoid suspicion – Perfuma distinctly notices that Catra has distanced herself to leaning against that same fallen catwalk while Adora and everyone else gathers around the war table. She holds herself with a detached nonchalance which Perfuma now knows to be an act, and even Melog seems to be more reticent to blatantly displaying Catra’s emotions. She keeps sending suspicious and even angry little looks towards Perfuma, which she would want to try and resolve if Catra’s terribly negative attitude wasn’t so insufferable – or if there was any time, for that matter.

Adora is none the wiser as she launches into her strategy spiel to free their friends, but Netossa is already on it: _“Leave this to me,”_

* * *

_“Scorpia’s really lucky to have a friend like you.”_

And there they go – the floodgates. Perfuma's heart swells for Catra, even with all of her anger, her negativity, the behaviors caused by her traumas. She wants nothing more than to help open Catra’s heart, help guide the flow of what’s clearly a torrent of feelings, unknowingly reciprocated. She’s on her way to learning Catra’s guarded language, and maybe she can help her understand it's one she no longer needs – that she can and will be met with a compassion and honesty that she clearly wasn't given in the Horde.

But there's no time, and when Castaspella and Shadow Weaver return with their contingency plan, Perfuma looks between Adora and Catra and sees this new stilted and uneasy undertone to their interactions. Catra's guarded snark is now colored by shades of resentment and fear, and Adora doesn’t even seem to be wholly aware of the tension she now carries in her shoulders. They shift from a comfortable, bantering dance into glances and silences haunted with the ghost of what's obviously a long and fraught history growing up together under Shadow Weaver. Perfuma sees that shift, and it helps weave that tapestry into its complete form – its final design.

It’s messy, but there’s something about the balanced composition, the way the colors complement one another – it’s more than worth seeing through to completion.

And maybe now isn't the time to iron out the issues in a potential romantic partnership, but Perfuma believes – _knows_ – that this war will end, and when it does? She’ll be there to help her friends.

Both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. can i just say i think we as a fandom don't talk enough about how adora really went and just ¿¿¿¿ jumped to what very well could have been her own death? with almost no hesitation? why do we not talk more about this honestly
> 
> 2\. perfuma seems like a real Metaphor Bitch and generally was a fun voice to get into. i was nervous about her, because i'd never really felt like i had a grasp on her character. do i even now?? idk honestly
> 
> 3\. prose is 👀👀 not my default narrative format these days so if there's any weird habit or formatting thing you notice that's incorrect or just straight up annoying to look at please please feel free to let me know.
> 
> 4\. i'll give u a cookie if u guess who's next
> 
> as always, love feedback, love talking about these rich-ass characters and their dynamics. hmu here or on tumblr @hedarey or insta @kateimations


	3. Shadow Weaver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shadow Weaver has some trouble differentiating people from plants.

Shadow Weaver knew the child from Hordak’s portal was destined for greatness from the moment she first shared air with her. The magic of Etheria enveloped her – Adora – as if she were a well of gravity: the same pull, the same laws that dictate how objects move through space. Pooling around her like it couldn’t bear to part with her. Inevitable and powerful.

For a woman who knew many things about Etheria’s magic – likely more than any living soul – Shadow Weaver was well and truly vexed by the nature of this child. This one was _different_. It was a mistake to have even commented on this fact to Hordak, the single-minded fool.

No matter.

She would keep this child close and ensure that whatever power she possessed was put to proper use.

Catra had no magic. She was found discarded in a crate during a Horde raid – helpless, in tears, and yet hissing and clawing with raw ferocity. She had no magic, but there are other forms of power.

It was one of the greatest mistakes of Shadow Weaver’s life to see that child’s power and choose to wipe clean her slate and raise her alongside Adora as a ward. The consequences would ripple through years – perhaps lifetimes.

“Adora. Catra.” She regarded the pair, one name rolling from her tongue like honey and the other biting out like a splinter. Shadow Weaver briefly amused the thought that they were onomatopoeic to the children before her, gracelessly sprawled at the edge of a dim corridor floor in a gentle and innocent embrace.

“S-shadow Weaver!”

Adora scrambled to push herself up from the dirty floor, her voice holding its usual and appropriate undercurrent of fearful respect. All of the cadets under her care regarded her in this way – all but Catra, who while rightfully fearful, was equally insolent. A scrawny, red-eyed Catra simultaneously released her grip on the fabric at Adora’s collar, and settled back onto her haunches, her gaze averted. She had been crying. Pathetic.

A mistake to take Catra in, indeed. There was no doubt that the child showed potential, but so often she allowed her emotions to get the better of her. Sniveling, crying, hiding away in dark corners, and worse yet? She had attached herself to Adora like a parasite, distracting a child of such importance with her selfish reliance and pitiful need for comfort.

Shadow Weaver ensured her tone was cold as steel. “Explain.”

“I-I’m sorry, we were just – “

Shadow Weaver didn’t let little Adora finish – to allow her the words to describe what she and Catra _had_ in fact been doing would only escalate the steadily growing problem of their closeness.

“You’ve let an opponent get the better of you, Adora. Show me how you would gain the upper hand against an enemy that had pinned you in a _true_ fight.”

Catra’s eyes finally met Shadow Weaver’s, _dangerously_ defiant at such a young age. “But we weren’t even fighting – “

_“Silence.”_

Catra’s ears downturned as she flinched.

Adora displayed no such defiance. “Well…” She glanced over at Catra, confusion written on her features. “She wasn’t really… holding me down, but maybe I’d – “

“I said _show_ me.”

Shadow Weaver swelled with pride at Adora’s quick obedience as she wordlessly lay herself down and motioned for Catra to re-enact their earlier embrace. She then felt a smug satisfaction as Catra herself obeyed the motion and slowly draped herself over Adora’s front – perhaps her insolence could be managed after all.

In a swift move well beyond her years, Adora jerked a shoulder upwards and swept Catra’s limbs from beneath her, leveraging the momentum to swing her weight over her opponent and press a forearm to Catra’s throat.

Catra hissed up at Adora.

 _“Very_ good, Adora.” Shadow Weaver cooed, using the praise to promptly interrupt the beginnings of Adora’s guilt-ridden apology to Catra. “Look at me, child.” She quickly obeyed and pushed herself up with an uneasy expression. “I want you to teach the rest of your team what you just showed me during tomorrow’s Combat Training. I will inform the supervising Sergeant. If you impress him, he may report it to Lord Hordak himself.” A lie – one Shadow Weaver told often. Hordak cared very little for the details of his underlings; it was all too easy to keep him ignorant of the unique power sitting under his very nose. Inviting any interest in Adora’s training would have only risked unwelcome meddling. Shadow Weaver crouched and gently tucked a blonde strand of hair behind Adora’s ear. “And I have no doubt that you will.”

“Lord Hordak? Really?” She looked up with an awed delight, her remorse forgotten and the gap from a missing tooth apparent through her smile. For a moment, Shadow Weaver was reminded of Micah’s sweet earnestness.

Shadow Weaver had assumed in the beginning that, like Micah, Adora’s magic was that of an exceptionally talented sorcerer. The sheer _density_ of the way it clung to her suggested that any talents would reveal themselves at an early age, but it became clear as she grew older that this would never be the case. Instead, the magic that surrounded her was that of a Princess: someone chosen; someone _born_ into their power and awaiting only an awakening – but how could this be for a child that came from another world entirely?

The answer she would come to had staggering implications on several accounts.

No, the eight-year-old before her would not be a sorcerer. But far more importantly, the eight-year-old before her would not be like Micah, whose disobedience during the Spell of Obtainment incident ensured that Shadow Weaver would suffer in agony for the rest of her life. She would never again train a protégé so carelessly that they could believe their own judgment superior to hers in the midst of such a critical moment.

“Oh yes, Adora. Your talent deserves _special_ praise _._ ” Shadow Weaver watched with satisfaction as Catra’s eyes shifted to Adora, her expression subtly changed from her usual insolent scowl to one of quiet envy and resentment. Good.

Efforts like those to divide the two, to keep Adora focused on her goals and to fire Catra’s weak softness into a brittle ceramic never really worked as anticipated. Shadow Weaver would continue to catch them in similar positions as they grew into Sophomore Cadets. Not always in a literal sense, mind you.

 _“Catra!”_ Adora wailed, recklessly abandoning her post in the middle of a course evaluation without a shred of hesitation.

She tore off her visor and slid to her knees next to Catra’s still form. Adora had failed to properly sweep the perimeter for this stage of the course, and as a result one of the hidden training bots had been able to land a surprise attack on her team from the rear. Seeing an injured cadet from the viewing platform window, the supervising Sergeant at Shadow Weaver’s side quickly reached for his data pad to end the simulation.

She held up a hand without looking at him. _Not yet._

The fact that Adora had failed to identify the bot showed carelessness, yes. Normally Shadow Weaver would gently scold her and that would be that, knowing she would not repeat the mistake – she never did. The true mistake was different; it could not be so easily fixed.

The lizard boy and the rest of her team were left to try and recover from the broken formation and disarm the bot, which through their visors still appeared as a Princess. Meanwhile Adora cradled Catra’s limp body and frantically tried to shuffle both of them to some kind of protection.

She yelped as she deflected a plasma blast with her training shield. “Stop the sim!” She demanded, a fiery edge to her powerful voice, almost loud enough to be heard at an equal volume from Shadow Weaver’s earpiece as from her distant position on the course below. She looked around wildly, enraged at an unseen authority. “Terminate the sim! Cadet down! I repeat: _terminate the sim!”_

Shadow Weaver’s frown deepened behind her mask as the supervising Sergeant looked over at her expectantly, a finger hovering over his data pad. She bit back her rage and simply nodded. The bot went still with an automated voice – _simulation terminated_ – and the three other cadets threw off their own visors, rushing to Adora’s side as she pulled Catra’s head in her lap.

Shadow Weaver quietly turned and began her descent to the training floor, her rage barely contained in the tension of her posture. She held up a hand to stop the supervising Sergeant from following – she would need to deal with this herself.

 _“Heyheyheyhey.”_ Adora muttered, muffled through the earpiece, a series of gentle slap sounds matching the rhythm of her voice. “You’re okay, c’mon.”

The scrawny boy’s voice quivered, “Is... she - ?”

Adora’s response was firm. “Unconscious. She’s breathing, heart rate is steady.”

A series of garbled growls came from the lizard boy.

“Yeah, if anyone can take a hit, it’s Catra.” The other female cadet supplied.

 _“Catra._ C’mon. Wake.”

_Slap._

“Up.”

_Slap._

The training facility elevator doors hissed open and Shadow Weaver glided across the hexagonal floor panels in the direction of Adora’s team.

A pained groan.

Four simultaneous sighs of relief.

“Oh, thank – _hey!_ Welcome back!” There was a tremble to Adora’s chuckle. “How you feeling?”

 _“Ow…”_ Another groan. “What… what happened?”

“We got flanked from behind. This is all my fault – ”

“Man, you were out _cold.”_

“I need to get you to med bay, you’re probably concussed – “

“Who… who are you?” Catra’s voice was hoarse. A long, crackling silence and some shaky breaths followed. Then a snicker, “You can take the rear next time.”

Adora’s gritted teeth could be heard through the earpiece. _“Not.”_ The gentle hit of a palm against a training breastplate. _“Funny.”_ Another hit.

A raspy laugh. “Your _face_.”

Shadow Weaver glided past some ‘trees’ and the five cadets came into view. Adora huddled over Catra, gently cradling the back of her head as the weight of her upper torso draped over bent knees. Catra grasped Adora’s forearm, her injury evident in weak and uncoordinated movements and a pained expression. Their faces were far too close.

“ _Sixty-three_ seconds, Catra. Totally unresponsive.”

Catra scoffed. “Of course you counted _.”_

Adora ignored her, “Scared me _so_ bad – “

“Adora.” Shadow Weaver drawled as she approached. Five pairs of eyes immediately snapped up, all with traces of that fear. The other three teammates straightened and stood at attention. Adora frowned up in confusion.

“Shadow Weaver? Sarge didn’t tell us you’d be – “ Catra clumsily tried to push herself out of Adora’s lap, whose firm hand held her down by the breastplate. _“Hey._ Take it easy.”

“I was passing by.” Shadow Weaver lied smoothly, airily. Truthfully, she observed most of Adora’s training progress quite closely in some form or another. Doing so in person from time to time was a welcome rest from magic use. “Now, tell me what you did wrong.”

Adora’s eyes met Catra’s, then averted in shame. “I rushed the perimeter check. I was thinking about the course time and not about the safety of my team.”

Just as expected. Shadow Weaver shook her head. _“Wrong._ You let yourself become distracted.”

Adora’s brows furrowed in confusion and she bit her lip. “I… I’m not sure I understand.”

Catra closed her eyes with a grimace. She understood.

“You abandoned your position and the rest of your team at a critical moment in combat. You left them without a plan of action, and without leadership.”

What Shadow Weaver expected was for Adora to nod, like always, and accept the criticism. Vow never to repeat her mistake, like always. Obey, like always. Instead, the confusion etched in her brows morphed into a poorly concealed and uncharacteristic expression of defiance. She took a breath through her nose and gathered herself before she spoke.

“Shadow Weaver, with respect, a hit like that to the back of her head – for all I could tell – the way she just – _collapsed – “_

“Active duty will see tragic losses and you will need to be prepared – “

“This is a _sim!”_ Adora interrupted, the wild fire in her eyes having returned, and gestured to their surroundings with a roll of her head. “Look around!”

Shadow Weaver was stunned into silence momentarily, but then she leaned into it – even allowed her rage to stoke the tendrils of dark magic surrounding her just slightly, letting the air fill with the fearful tension resulting from Adora’s disrespectful outburst. The other three cadets fidgeted uncomfortably. Catra openly stared up at Adora, who with a thick swallow and widening eyes suddenly became aware of the boundary she had just crossed. But then she took another breath, tightened her grip on Catra, and her eyes hardened.

“So I was supposed to just _leave_ her there?”

Shadow Weaver’s voice took on a venom usually reserved for Catra or others of insignificance, but never Adora. “You will not have the luxury of terminating a simulation when faced against a Princess in the field, _cadet.”_

Adora blinked back surprise at the harsh tone – she wasn’t used to it. Her eyes darted to the side, conflict written all over her face. Catra tried to push herself up once more, her cheeks rightfully flushed with shame, but she was again held down by the hand on her breastplate. Any confusion was wiped free of Adora’s features.

“No.” She shook her head as her jaw set and her resolute eyes met Shadow Weaver’s. “I would have done the same thing in actual combat.”

“You’ve never _seen_ actual combat, child.” Shadow Weaver chuckled darkly, injecting as much condescension into her words as they could carry. _Do not question me._

But Adora had made her decision.

“I’m sorry for disrupting the sim.” She said, then turned to the three other cadets. “And I’m sorry for breaking formation and leaving you guys exposed. In actual combat, I would have put you in danger.”

The scrawny boy rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between Adora and Shadow Weaver. “H-hey, it’s okay – “

He fell silent as her dark magic quietly swelled – a warning.

Adora however was undeterred and presented her case with the earnest logic of a natural leader, “From now on, I’ll implement a ‘fallen comrade’ contingency maneuver into our simulations. If a cadet is down, the rest of the team goes into a three-point formation to cover us while I assess whether the injury is serious enough to terminate the sim.”

Adora finished with a clipped, professional tone and waited for Shadow Weaver to approve of the undeniably sound solution to what she believed to be the problem. Because the true problem could not be laid out so explicitly, Shadow Weaver could only nod tersely and accept her proposal through gritted teeth.

“Very well – ”

Catra scoffed, “What if _you’re_ the cadet down?”

Shadow Weaver barely managed to hold back a roil of dark magic and a _SILENCE, CADET_ at the disrespectful interruption. Catra was spared her reprimand only because the point in question was entirely valid. Still, keeping that rage at bay took a considerable effort in the minutes that followed.

“I – “ Adora balked for a moment as she blinked down at Catra, the thought clearly never having occurred to her either. Then, a dangerous crooked smile spread across her features and she clutched a hand to her heart. “Aww, you _do_ care.”

Catra sputtered as she shoved an uncoordinated hand at Adora’s cooing expression, “What – shut _up_.“ Adora snorted as she gently deflected Catra’s hand, capturing her wrist with ease. “ _Ugh_ , what I’m _saying_ is you can’t exactly assess an unconscious cadet if _you’re_ the one that’s – “

“Guess you’ll just have to look out for _me_ , then, huh?”

Catra’s squirming stilled and the charged silence that followed as Adora… _gazed_ down at the girl in her lap with a soft smile was far too long, far too intimate, and completely inappropriate considering their audience. Adora’s thumb shifted in a motion far too similar to a caress at the corner of Catra’s jaw, the other still gently holding her wrist.

_This would not do._

Shadow Weaver understood what was happening. Even their three teammates exchanged looks, foolishly thinking they were being subtle. The two girls seemed less aware, though Adora eventually, _finally_ snapped out of the moment and looked back up with a momentary flash of panic as if remembering her surroundings – a fraction of a second longer and Shadow Weaver would have intervened herself.

“This won’t happen again, I promise.” Adora’s voice was firm once more, the soft smile gone. Catra had practically nestled her face into Adora’s front in a wasted effort to hide the embarrassed flush on her cheeks.

Shadow Weaver’s gritted, drawn-out response held a private double meaning, “No, cadet. It will _not.”_ She then breathed out some of her rage with a sigh of feigned boredom and raised the volume of her voice, as if addressing whole team. “Unfortunately, I will have to report this incident to Lord Hordak.”

Adora nodded solemnly, accepting the punishment – wholly untrue as it was.

Shadow Weaver lowered her voice again, this time addressing only Adora. “As the leader of this squadron, you are responsible for your teammates’…” She tilted her head just enough to indicate Catra, whose eyes narrowed. _“…_ _failures_. Do not disappoint me again.”

Adora opened her mouth as if to argue, then seemed to think better of it and snapped her jaw shut – she had questioned Shadow Weaver’s judgment enough for one afternoon. She nodded after some hesitation. “Understood. Thank you, Shadow Weaver.”

Catra’s scowl deepened and she shoved herself upright; Adora did not try to stop her this time and simply bit her lip as she watched the unusually clumsy action, her expression one of guilt and concern.

“Very good.” With a bored tone, “Dismissed.” Shadow Weaver turned and glided away, but continued to listen closely through the earpiece, unbeknownst to Adora and her team.

“Got it,” Catra seethed after a long, crackling static, “Next time just leave me to die so I don’t drag you down with my _failure – “_

“C’mon, Catra, I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that.” Adora’s reassurance lacked conviction.

A scoff. “What- _ever._ I’m out of here, these overhead lights are – “

“Catra, seriously, take it easy – “

“Let go of – “

“You need to let me take you to – “

Some shuffling.

A harsh hiss, “I said let _go_ of me.“

There was a muffled clattering of Catra’s training gear and the attached mic being tossed carelessly to the floor.

Another long silence followed before Adora sighed heavily. “I’m really sorry, guys. You were awesome.” Her line went silent with a beep, the rest of her words only audible through the other active mics. “I should make sure she gets to med bay without running into a wall or something.” More shuffling – a second beep as Catra’s line went silent.

The female cadet chuckled, though sincere worry laced her tone, “With the way she was walking? Good luck.”

Adora’s nervous laugh was distant, “Thanks. See you later.”

A third and fourth beep prompted Shadow Weaver to remove her earpiece at the ending transmissions, but she stopped herself short when she heard the curiously hushed tone of the female cadet.

“Alright, is it just me, or did Adora almost plant one on Catra in front of all of us _and_ Shadow Weaver?”

Shadow Weaver stopped dead in her path and her blood turned to ice.

The scrawny boy’s confused voice was clearest – his mic was still active. “Almost plant one what?”

A few incomprehensible growls came from the lizard boy – presumably an explanation.

“O-oh, I… yeah, that was, um. A little awkward.”

“Man, I _knew_ it!”

More snarling noises from the lizard boy.

“Oh,” The female cadet snickered, “I’ll raise you ten ration bars they get caught hooking up in the next _month._ Like, c’mon, they share a _bed_.”

Shadow Weaver’s fists clenched. _Unacceptable._

“I dunno, how do you guys know they’ve even – “

The lizard boy’s low growls interrupted the scrawny boy, louder this time.

“Shoot.” His mic picked up some muffled rustling. “My bad.”

 _“Seriously,_ Kyle?”

“S-sorry, forgot it was still on – “

His line went dead with a fifth and final beep.

Shadow Weaver took several seconds to re-compose herself before unclenching her fists and continuing on the path back to her chamber.

_Absolutely unacceptable._

The other cadets looked up to Adora – Shadow Weaver had made sure of it, doing all she could to prepare her for the lonely burden of great leadership and power that her magic all but ensured would one day befall her.

What she could _not_ prepare Adora for – or perhaps more accurately what Shadow Weaver herself had foolishly not foreseen – had been the tender fondness she would show towards Catra. Adora’s heart beat soundly for her friends and for her cause; it always had. In itself, this was a quality which when directed properly could be a strength, but it beat differently for Catra. It beat _foolishly_ for Catra, repeatedly clouding otherwise impeccable judgment and carefully molded discipline with reckless decisions and carelessness. Their closeness was a vulnerability Adora could not afford to have, and certainly not one her peers should have been able to see as clearly as they did.

And so Shadow Weaver planted the seeds: Catra, lazy, unmotivated, disrespectful. Catra, the burden. Catra, holding Adora back from her goals.

They would need to be separated. Eventually, they are.

Unfortunately, the terms of this separation could not have been more disastrous for Shadow Weaver, nor further from how she had intended for it to unfold. Not one _day_ after promoting Adora to Force Captain, laying the groundwork to fully remove Catra from her future, and finally alerting Lord Hordak to a fraction of her potential in order to do so, Adora found the Sword of Protection in the Whispering Woods.

Shadow Weaver could have laughed at the cruel irony of _years_ of molding and teaching and training backfiring so spectacularly into the Rebellion suddenly gaining such a valuable asset in both a weapon _and_ a leader – could have laughed had what should have been her greatest accomplishment not been perverted into her most humiliating failure. Little by little, loss after loss, everything Shadow Weaver had given _decades_ of her life to achieve spiraled out of control until finally she found herself torn from the magic keeping her alive and disgraced in a Horde prison cell. The Rebellion had their hero – their _She-Ra –_ and Shadow Weaver had _nothing_.

That _Catra_ was the one to rise to take her place only twisted the knife further; it stoked the familiar rage that without any magic was rendered bitter and useless.

Brazen Catra, so alight with that fire to prove her worth. And yet? Still so susceptible to the whims of her roiling emotions. She would learn.

Shadow Weaver felt no guilt at deceiving her former ward and leaving her to Hordak’s mercy. This was partly out of an admittedly petty desire for retribution, but also because she knew Catra would survive whatever fate awaited her because she always did; Shadow Weaver had taught her that much, at least. And perhaps that was the greatest lesson she could impart – that it’s never about right and wrong or loyalty, but about what one can offer in order to secure a seat at the table of whoever has the advantage.

Of course, She-Ra was the ultimate advantage, and it seemed mystery still shrouded the true depth of her power to everyone – even Adora herself. Shadow Weaver could offer her illumination, magical guidance, and answers about her abilities and past. If she could get to naïve, too-trusting Adora first and offer those things, in return she could be healed of the magical ailment she had fought for decades. Perhaps she would even be offered a new seat at the table of Etheria’s true power – that which only She-Ra could unlock.

Unfortunately, Adora was not so naïve, nor so trusting. Not anymore. _Fortunately,_ the seat in question was not Adora’s to offer. That power belonged to the Queen of Bright Moon.

So, a newly-healed but powerless old sorceress bided her time. She read – at first, very carefully. The Queen was not a fool, and she was watching. She planted the seeds of trust with the Queen and Micah’s daughter, their _heir,_ Glimmer. She saw the young Princess’s hunger to prove herself and gave her a taste of her true power. Then, after acquiring some rather… inexplicable and troubling memories resulting from Hordak’s second portal, she more freely perused Bright Moon’s impressive library. With Angella out of the picture, there was no one to pay attention to a defeated old sorceress’s light reading habits.

And so she read. She learned. She tended her garden. She waited.

As predicted, Glimmer – the new _Queen_ – sought her out willingly, and those seeds of trust blossomed into a position of teaching and counsel. Shadow Weaver had earned a seat at the table.

Less predictably, Adora sought her out as well – albeit for very different reasons.

“I know what you’re doing.” Adora’s voice was low and cold as she approached from the garden entrance – it was her first and only unaccompanied visit in the entirety of the time Shadow Weaver had spent in Bright Moon. Her hushed tone and a glance over her shoulder at one of the distant guards in the darkness indicated a secretive and urgent nature to this particular call.

The Queen didn’t know Adora was here. Shadow Weaver had seen the cracks slowly forming between the two. Between sudden new information about the Heart, Scorpia’s arrival that same evening, and a quickly shot-down Beast Island rescue plan, it seemed those cracks had transformed into a wide chasm within a matter of hours.

“Princess.” Shadow Weaver drawled without turning as she tilted a crimson rose upwards with a fingertip. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Adora ignored her. “You already knew about the Heart.”

Clever girl. “I know nothing about the Heart that Bright Moon’s library doesn’t freely offer.” A half-truth. The ancient texts she had scoured during her months there were a piecemeal confirmation of what Shadow Weaver had suspected for some time. “I can recommend a few texts, now that you’re restricted to the castle grounds as I am. I find reading to be a pleasant way to pass the time.”

Adora was never one to take her bait, like most others. “You may have Glimmer fooled, but I know you have an angle here. And you’re going to tell me what it is.” Her eyes were steel as she pressed a pointed finger to the edge of the stone basin and leaned forward. “ _Right_ now. There’s too much at stake.”

And risk she and her foolish friends performing a half-baked and reckless attempt to unleash an unstable magical force powerful beyond comprehension? No, certainly not. The stakes were not yet that high.

Shadow Weaver flicked at a crimson petal, browned and withering at the edges. “The Queen has chosen my counsel for a reason. Your _friend_ is no fool.” She held up a pair of shears to the stem of the imperfect rose.

“You’re right, she’s not.” Adora’s eyes followed the flower as it fell with a _snip_ to the garden floor _._ They lingered there for a moment before she spoke again. “But she doesn’t know your mind games like I do.”

Shadow Weaver feigned a light exasperation as she turned back to the rose bush. “I only want to help, Adora – “

“ _Why?_ Why drive us apart? What do you _possibly_ have to gain this time?”

Shadow Weaver stilled, sparing the next defective rose from her shears. It took just a moment as she pulled back to look at Adora again, but when she saw a particular kind of anguish mixed into her angry expression, and a tremble to her heaving breaths, Shadow Weaver understood the unspoken demand.

 _This time._ It wasn’t about the Heart. Not _really._

Clever girl, indeed. Truthfully, Glimmer and Adora’s mistrust of one another had been an unintended side effect of establishing her own trust with the Queen. Old habits, perhaps. Shadow Weaver slowly lowered her shears and squared towards Adora, who still waited with a glare that grew more watery with each passing second.

Shadow Weaver sighed, “Catra was – “

 _“No.”_ Adora immediately circled around the basin and took three menacing steps forward until she was close enough to wrench the shears from her hand and toss them to the floor with a clatter. Shadow Weaver actually took an instinctive step back out of fear. “You don’t get to talk about her.” Her voice broke just slightly, “ _Ever.”_

In Adora’s watery stare, her bared teeth, and the imposing lean to her posture, Shadow Weaver could see that reckless, brazen fire that seemed only to swell where Catra was involved – a fire she had perhaps acquired from Catra herself, long ago.

So that’s how it still was, then. Even after everything. Shadow Weaver wondered if her Princess friends knew.

Adora seemed to come to herself with a few blinks and took an unsteady step backwards, startled by her own intensity in that moment. She closed her eyes with a deep inhale, and when she opened them again, the fire was gone. In its place was the all-too-familiar detached and steely resolve of the soldier Shadow Weaver had raised her to be. A choice had been made. A half-baked and reckless one, no doubt.

She turned her back and began to walk away. The conversation was over.

“ _Adora_.” Shadow Weaver’s pleading tone was enough to give Adora pause. “Please. Don’t do anything foolish. The Heart is – “

“I have to keep everyone safe.” Adora’s jaw was set, its hardness visible in the silhouette of her moonlit profile. “Whatever it takes.” Then, her rigid shoulders softened as her eyes found the discarded rose near the edge of her boot. She bent down to pick it up and gently examined it in her palm as she stood, grazing a thumb along the edges of its wilted petals.

The moment passed. Adora let out a humorless scoff and spared one last icy glance over her shoulder - resentful, knowing, condemning - then swept out of the gardens with purpose, imperfect rose still in hand.

All too soon after that, the stakes _would_ become too high. Shadow Weaver felt that familiar righteous rage because even if she had divulged her knowledge sooner, as predicted, neither the Queen nor Adora had been prepared to listen to her when it really mattered. As a result, Etheria was left without its Queen, Adora had lost her connection to She-Ra, had foolish plans to rescue her friend, and the Rebellion was slowly crumbling under Prime’s control. Clearly Shadow Weaver would need to take matters into her own hands.

What she already knew was that She-Ra was the only being that could survive the full might of the Heart’s magic. What she would come to discover was that any living soul could take the burden of the failsafe – they would be destroyed in the process, but the magic would be released freely and without prejudice.

Adora had broken the Sword, yes, but that magic – the magic Shadow Weaver had felt all of Adora’s life – still surrounded her. She was still the Princess of Power in some form or another. But then Adora was gone with barely a moment’s notice, unlikely to return, and with her went She-Ra and any hope of channeling the magic of the Heart to the Rebellion’s direct advantage.

So she set off one last time to gather any last pieces of evidence to present to what little was left of the Rebellion. Among them, there would certainly be at least one soul brave enough to lay down their life for the cause.

But then Adora _did_ come back. With her came a new and liberated She-Ra form, an advantage in the war against Horde Prime, and a renewed hope of truly utilizing the magic of the Heart.

With her also came Catra. And with Catra, a unanimous and even more pronounced mistrust of Shadow Weaver among the sparse remainder of the Rebellion.

She wasn’t so foolish as to believe her presence was welcome; everyone either avoided her or actively changed their behavior when they realized she was nearby. This was especially apparent with Catra and Adora, which made it incredibly difficult to properly gauge the situation and determine what would need to happen if her plan was to work. No matter – Shadow Weaver had stopped caring whether she was liked by others long ago, and she would obtain the information she needed one way or another.

Shadow Weaver lingered within earshot of the dark corner where the four of them had set up their bedrolls under the guise of slowly pacing the bunker. She was careful not to direct her head or any body language towards Glimmer and Adora’s crouched forms as they gathered supplies for their mission to Mystacor later that night.

“So Scorpia missed on purpose?” Glimmer’s voice was hopeful.

Adora’s was skeptical, “Perfuma seems to think so. You talked to her?”

“She filled me in. Do you think… when we go tonight…”

“We can’t know for sure.” There was a brief pause. “Glimmer, are you sure you’re okay to go? If we do run into your dad – “

“I’m going.” Glimmer asserted firmly, then her voice lowered enough that Shadow Weaver almost couldn’t make out her next words. “And what about _you?”_

Adora stilled her movements and turned to face Glimmer. “What _about_ me?”

 _“_ What if you need to summon She-Ra and you still can’t?”

It took considerable effort for Shadow Weaver not to suddenly stop her languid pacing at that piece of information, which presented a significant problem.

“Perfuma filled you in.” Adora echoed flatly with an irritated huff. “Don’t tell Catra, I don’t want her to worry. She’s…” She spared a glance over her shoulder; Shadow Weaver resumed her movement across the floor and gave away nothing to indicate she was listening. “She’s got enough to worry about right now.”

Glimmer sighed, “Adora…”

“I don’t want you to worry either. If we stick to the plan it won’t matter anyway. Stealth – in and out.”

“Right, because our plans always go _so_ smoothly.” Glimmer huffed. “What if something happens and you need her? What if we have to fight?”

“Excuse you, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself without She-Ra.” Adora puffed out her chest indignantly, but Shadow Weaver could hear the anxiety in her tone. Glimmer certainly didn’t seem to be amused, so Adora dropped the false bravado. “Hey, it’ll be okay, I promise. Whatever it is that’s blocking me, I’ll get it figured out.”

There was not a doubt in Shadow Weaver’s mind about what exactly was apparently blocking Adora from transforming – rather, _who_.

“Hear anything interesting?” Catra’s low voice was suddenly right behind her, as if summoned by the sour thought. It was a loud contrast to Adora and Glimmer’s distant conversation, and Shadow Weaver barely managed to hold back a startled jump of her shoulders. Her new magical companion – Melog – circled in front of her with a low growl, its mane spiking out in an agitated magenta hue. Catra shortly followed from the other side and came into view with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

Shadow Weaver didn’t even bother brushing off the implied accusation with some lie or excuse. The Catra before her was different, and wouldn’t be so easily deceived. Of course, her physical change had been immediately apparent: the shortened hair, Melog’s companionship, no mask, different clothing. The real change though was in how she carried herself, how she behaved with others, and especially in how she behaved with Adora. Or maybe there wasn’t a change in the latter at all, merely a return to form. Even then, there was a closeness between them that they had never shown in their more innocent days as cadets under her care. Something significant had clearly shifted during their time in space.

Catra’s glare stayed fixed on her for several moments longer as she walked backwards with Melog towards that dark corner, and the message was clear: _I’m watching you._

Eventually she turned and faced Adora and Glimmer, who were oblivious to she and Shadow Weaver’s exchange. “What’d I miss?” There was a note of unease that betrayed the lightness of Catra’s tone as she casually leaned against a storage crate, arms still crossed.

“Nothing.” Adora said, too quickly.

Catra’s ears downturned further, and her tail stilled.

“Talking about my dad.” Glimmer offered a half-truth in an attempt to cover for Adora, but it was too late. From her periphery, Shadow Weaver could see that Catra’s eyes were still locked on Adora, waiting, and the tense silence stretched on as Adora avoided her stare and instead busied herself with gathering the last of the supplies.

“Okay, well.” She said finally, with the slightest bitter edge. “Just be careful what you say.” Catra pointedly looked back over at Shadow Weaver, and Adora and Glimmer followed her gaze. It seemed her ruse was up. “You don’t know who might be _listening.”_

Catra too had always been far more clever than Shadow Weaver had ever wanted to give her credit for, and that underestimation would almost cost them everything at the Crystal of Arxia.

But it didn’t, because Catra never truly understood Adora – that she would do whatever needed to be done, even at the cost of her own life. At the end of the day, even if Catra tried to tear her away from Shadow Weaver’s guiding hands, logic would always prevail in Adora’s mind. There was simply no other choice, and she understood that, just as she had been raised.

But it seemed Shadow Weaver’s successes would always come with a price, and that time the price was any hope of regaining any of the magical power she had lost, because it would be She-Ra’s to give. And Adora wanted nothing to do with her – _hated_ her, even – as if Catra leaving had been _her_ fault.

Shadow Weaver did not sleep that night.

Glimmer would approach her the next day. Perhaps not all hope was lost yet; once the magic was released and the dust had settled, the Queen would remember all the ways she had helped. After all, it was Glimmer, not Adora, that was the ruler of Etheria.

“My Queen.” Shadow Weaver nodded respectfully. “I never had the chance to tell you how relieved I was to see your safe return – “

“Save it.” Glimmer cut the ingratiation short and fixed her with an icy glare. “I don’t know what happened last night, or why Catra left. Adora won’t talk about it with us. But I know you had something to do with it.”

Shadow Weaver scoffed, affronted. “Catra alone made that choice.” It seemed she was not yet done suffering the consequences of her former ward’s selfishness.

Glimmer would have none of it. “Adora is _wrecked._ She won’t admit it, but anyone that _actually_ cares about her can see it. So I’m going to make something very clear to you, right now.” Glimmer took a step forward, and there was a dangerous edge to her lowered voice. “You will not be welcome _anywhere_ in Allied territory once this is all over. And,” Another step forward. “If the failsafe doesn’t work, or Adora can’t transform – if _anything_ happens to her,” She took one last step and raised a menacing finger. “I will make absolutely sure that _you_ pay the price. Is that understood?”

Perhaps the price this time was even greater than what Shadow Weaver had been prepared to pay. She made no motion to indicate whether she understood the terms, but Glimmer didn’t care – the threat had been made. She turned and began to walk back to where the others were gathered cozily around a flickering light rune on the bunker floor.

Shadow Weaver eventually found her voice and called after Glimmer, no longer confident she even believed the words, “It was the only way.”

The young Queen certainly didn’t. “No.” Her fists clenched. “No, it _wasn’t.”_

The Rebels laid out their final plan, everyone with a part to play – everyone but Shadow Weaver. They all left her there without so much as one word, so she found some old rations in storage, performed a fermentation spell with the little magic she still had, and contemplated her fate. Her help was not wanted – not until Catra arrived late that night.

At first, Shadow Weaver couldn’t help the knowing exasperation at Catra _still_ trying to tear Adora away from her very purpose – until she realized she wasn’t.

But why should she help them, after everything? It was an intoxicated, angry, _bitter_ thought that took great effort to brush away. After all, if she did nothing to help, she would only prove Adora right in the end. So Shadow Weaver drained herself of the last of her magic – nearly killing herself – because Adora _had_ to reach the Heart. Even Catra finally seemed to understand that and sent them ahead, likely sacrificing herself to the guardian beast in the process.

But then her perilous screams rang down that ancient corridor and Adora tore away from Shadow Weaver’s guiding hands, again. She made that reckless choice, again. _Catra._ Always Catra.

If Adora hadn’t let their attachment become something that could leave her fraught and conflicted once taken away – if _Catra_ hadn’t been so selfish as to demand her attention and focus in the first place. If they had only _listened._

These are the righteous thoughts – the familiar rage – that she expects to have, only… she doesn’t. This time, she feels simply a cold resignation. Acceptance.

Perhaps… perhaps it was Shadow Weaver that had squandered her chances, over and over. Even with the magic set free, she would be restricted from it. There would be nowhere for her to go that she would not be met with suspicion or resentment, if she was even allowed to live at all. It had been a long time since she’d truly had anyone or let herself belong to anyone; she was not wanted, and she would not be missed.

Adora was wanted. Adora would be missed. And while She-Ra belonged to everyone, it had never been more clear that Adora belonged to Catra, and Catra to Adora. They always had. And it was _Adora_ , not She-Ra, that would walk down this ancient tunnel, Adora that would readily march to her own end… and it was Shadow Weaver that had brought that ruin.

It was. It _was._

The feeling of regret and mourning that washes over her as she thinks of Adora – tiny hands as a wispy-haired baby, a gap-toothed smile as a child, her bright talent as a teen, incorruptible and self-assured as a young woman – is as foreign as it is cathartic.

Then there’s Catra, the haunting mirror that had brought her so much rage for so many years. Perhaps Catra knows something she doesn’t – found something along the way that Shadow Weaver herself had long since dismissed. Perhaps, whether in her youth or in that vulnerable need for love that she never could hide or push down completely, Catra will be the one that’s right in the end.

Perhaps Catra isn’t like Shadow Weaver at all – mismatched eyes vibrant and striking as a kitten, a snaggletoothed pout as a child, her sharp wit as a teen, shrewd and ferocious as a young woman – perhaps she never had been and will never have to be.

And perhaps she can still give one of them a real future, and even the brief hope of a future together. She can give them the gift of allowing them to choose each other over everything else as they had time and time again, their entire lives, one last time. Even if their time together is only as long as their journey to the Heart.

Shadow Weaver makes her decision, then. She faces the kaleidoscope of raw magical energy pulsing through the ancient tunnel and calls upon every spell she has mastered over her many years – ancient, dark, or otherwise. She opens her arms to welcome as much of the Heart’s magic as her worn body will carry, and an old sorceress allows herself just a short moment to bask in the intoxicating power of its embrace.

Then she turns away.

_So be it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jokes on u old hag turns out being Very Gay™ will save them both but ur crusty ass ain’t gon be around to see it and good riddance🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼
> 
> FIRST OF ALL, big shoutout to [Caminante](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caminante/pseuds/caminante) for making an absolutely incredible [Podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520151) of the first chapter of this series, and absolutely nailing all of the character voices. there's also a link in the first chapter, and i'm only a little embarrassed to admit i've listened to it....many times
> 
> 1\. holy frickle this one was an absolute d o o z y to write and i will be invoicing noelle stevenson personally for intense emotional labor on this chapter because wow!!! turns out it’s exhausting trying to get into the headspace of an actual narcissist and trying to maintain the balance of them being a verified Terrible Person but a Terrible Person whose decisions still make sense like who’da thunk ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> 2\. this chapter marks a significant departure in style, tone, and format for this series (which i had always planned). i’m definitely the most anxious about this one so far, and v curious to hear if it, y’know. works. too jarring? too dark? more shadow weaver than any of us really want in our lives? did it hurt?
> 
> 3\. also part of why this chapter took so long i think is because shadow weaver is 100% the most calculated character in the show, is wrapped up in the most canon magic lore of everyone, and very clearly had a specific agenda with adora from the very beginning. the bitch is tricky to write because like. it’s really clear she was written with great care and precision in the show (i mean everyone was, really), and that she has always known more than she ever let on, but it’s hard to gauge just HOW much she knew and when she knew it. anyway the bitch scary. people like that are scary 👁👄👁
> 
> 4\. i loved that visual metaphor in s4 with pruning so i expanded on that. adora loves her imperfect lil rose (it’s catra)
> 
> 5\. i NEEDED a scene of glimmer telling that hag off for all her bullshit. i needed it. so i wrote it.
> 
> 6\. hit me up on [tumblr](https://hedarey.tumblr.com/) or [insta](https://www.instagram.com/kateimations/) if ya fancy, leave a comment, let's dig deep into the psyches of fictional animated characters because that's what Real Adults with jobs and lives and commitments do, apparently


	4. Glimmer (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glimmer’s Burning Rage goes unnoticed because she’s armed with sparkles instead of claws.

It’s not that I think Adora hides things from us. Not on purpose, anyway.

“Y’know, the water also helps with scars.” I say through a contented sigh.

For instance: Adora has a lot of scars. Like, a _crazy_ amount of scars, even for a Horde-soldier-turned-She-Ra. It’s not that I think she’s been hiding them from us, it’s just. It feels like the kind of thing I should know because she _told_ me, not because more of her skin just happens to be visible at the moment.

“Helps?” Adora sounds confused through an almost slurred stupor, a stark contrast to how she usually speaks. I crack an eye open—even through the haze of Mystacor’s steam grotto I can see how relaxed she is. It might be the first time I’ve ever seen her relaxed, honestly.

“Water’s healing properties. Minerals ‘n’ stuff.” I wetly _tap tap_ underneath my left jawline to indicate the clawed, faded lines running along Adora’s neck in the same spot—presumably a souvenir from their encounter with the Horde at the Sea Gate. Not even the super-powerful and almighty She-Ra can heal her own wounds without a trace, apparently.

“Oh.” Her voice is small as she touches a hand to her neck. Her expression becomes anxious and she straightens, water sloshing around her as she examines other, older scars along her glistening arms and hands. “In the Horde, scars were kind of, I don’t know. Cool? Like they showed how tough you were.” She bites her lip, mumbling, “I guess some of these _are_ kinda gross-looking.”

My stomach rolls with guilt—I wasn’t trying to take her out of that relaxed state, and _certainly_ never meant to say anything to make her feel self-conscious. Thankfully, Bow comes to my rescue. As always.

“We already know you’re tough, Adora.” He assures with a small laugh from the other end of the pool. “But I actually agree with the Horde there—scars _are_ kind of cool. Did you see how many scars Sea Hawk had? And the stories behind them are even _cooler.”_

I feel a prick of irritation at his smitten expression and roll my eyes. “Too bad none of those stories are true.”

Adora snorts, “Yeah, like when he wrestled a kraken and freed the drowning damsel?”

“What? He had suction marks!” Bow lifts a leg from the pool with a loud _slosh_ and points at his own calf in protest. “You _saw_ them!”

“Bow, c’mon. I’ve done all kinds of water combat training. _No one_ can hold their breath that long without at least losing consciousness.”

“Besides Mermista.” I point out.

“Right, besides—“ Adora cuts short just as I whip my head around to find a matching look of amused realization on her own face. “Actually, I take that back. There’s probably a lot of truth to that story.” She grins smugly.

I only half-stifle a laugh when Bow crosses his arms and basically starts _pouting_ at us from the other end of the pool. It’s totally sincere and stupidly endearing.

“Well I’m sure _some_ of them are true.” He grumbles, like a five-year-old. As he uncrosses his arms he notices Adora still absently tracing along her left collarbone and his little pout becomes friendly curiosity. “What about you? You must have a _crazy_ amount of cool stories.”

I don’t even think he fully realizes the brilliant sensitivity of how he just highlighted Adora’s crazy number of scars. I’m struck by how immediately I’m endeared to him all over again and for such a completely different reason.

A small smile pulls at the corner of Adora’s mouth before she shrugs. “Honestly, not really. Just Horde training accidents, pranks gone wrong, stupid clumsy stuff.” She smiles fully at us as she leans back, lifting her arms to drape them along the stone edge. Then I start to _really_ look, and I notice another set of thin lines that go from the outside of her forearm down to the inside of her wrist, and a shorter horizontal set across her upper arm. They both match those first lines I noticed, running from the nape of her neck all the way down past her collarbone.

Adora put herself in harm’s way in Salineas and we clearly didn’t do a good enough job of protecting her from Force Captain Catra.

“What, fixing the Sea Gate and saving Salineas isn’t cool?” I say it teasingly at first to mask my guilt before I let my voice quiet to something laced with apology as I point out, “Catra really did a number on you.”

“I mean—” Her brows pull together in confusion and I briefly worry it’s because I misremembered the Force Captain’s name—Adora has only mentioned her a couple times in passing. “I was She-Ra, so I don’t actually have any scars from…” _Wait._ If she doesn’t _actually_ scar from She-Ra’s wounds, then _that means_ —the realization dawns just as she tracks my line of sight to that scar on her neck and collarbone, the same one she’d just been absently tracing.

Adora barks out a laugh so loud and unexpected that the jump of my shoulders causes a few ripples to shoot across the pool.

“Oh, _this?”_ Adora traces the scar again almost… _fondly?_ “Nah, she gave me this one _forever_ ago.” Her bright smile dims a little, becoming more wistful. “Well. Not forever compared to some of her other…” She trails off, lifting her hand from her collarbone to touch some skin under her left eye that appears unblemished, presumably because whatever invisible scar she’s talking about _is_ from forever ago. All from Catra, and all from before they even became enemies. Which makes me worry that there are a lot more than even the crazy amount that are visible.

Adora snaps out of her little reverie. “Not really a cool story, but it was pretty funny?” She smiles brightly at us with a little shrug, oblivious to the concerned look Bow just sent my way. Adora completely misinterprets him leaning forward in the water as an act of curious interest—the story prompt she’d been waiting for: “Okay, so, Catra’s not a fan of water but she _hates_ mice. First day of Intro to Water Combat, she’s just standing at edge of the pool, not even _in_ or anything, and her tail is—“

“Adora,” Bow interrupts the start of her alarmingly cheerful anecdote, “How many scars do you have because of her?”

The mirth drains from Adora’s expression as she blinks at him. “Oh—I…” She finally recognizes the same expression of concern on my face and sinks deeper into the water, hiding most of her body from view, which seems to confirm the answer I’d suspected: _a lot._ “I mean we grew up together. Trained together. She didn’t _mean_ to hurt me.” She pauses, then mutters, “Usually.”

I raise a brow. “Seemed like she meant to hurt you at the Sea Gate.”

Adora frowns at me. “Well, I guess, but—“

“Adora,” Bow says, firm but ever gentle. He handles this kind of thing with _way_ more grace than I do. “That wasn’t normal. It’s not okay to hurt your friends like that.”

These conversations happen with Adora all the time. Usually, they’re prompted by something harmless or even endearing, like when we had to explain the concept of a napkin and that she should be using one instead of her sleeve. Or that you’re supposed to leave the room if someone tells you they need to change. But sometimes they’re disconcerting indicators of how horribly the Horde treated her. Like right now: hearing her talk about being repeatedly hurt by someone she grew up with, only the hurt itself is, like, a minor detail of her funny little anecdote.

“Well we’re not exactly friends right _now_.” She scoffs, and I think she’d meant to sound dry but it just comes out bitter and frustrated. “Obviously.”

“I’m not so sure she was ever really your friend, Adora.” It’s the wrong thing to say if the sharp look she immediately gives me is any indication.

“Listen, Catra is—“ Adora falters and blinks. “ _Was_. She—you guys don’t—“ She snaps her mouth shut, opens it, then closes it again. Her challenging expression deflates into something disheartened though maybe not entirely resigned, but as she looks to the side it’s clear either way that she just wants the subject dropped. “It doesn’t matter.” Adora closes her eyes and slumps back into the water but her shoulders are visibly rigid as she lets out a sigh that’s far from relaxed.

I send Bow a sort of pleading look and he gracefully steers the subject to something that eventually eases the tension in the pool.

* * *

“Commander Glimmer.” My mom calls from her seat in the war room as everyone begins to filter out, dismissed from the weekly Alliance briefing. “A word before you go?”

I roll my eyes and begrudgingly sit back down. Bow and Adora both shoot me sympathetic smiles as they trail after everyone else. The guards posted outside the war room close the door behind Swift Wind, leaving my mom and I alone.

I cross my arms and resist the urge to groan. These pointless briefings are already the most annoying part of every week, taking all the Princesses away from the real fight out _there,_ and I’m _really_ not in the mood for whatever mom-lecture I’m about to—

“What do you know of Force Captain Catra?”

I blink, startled both by the unexpected question and by the fact that I’m still being addressed by the _Queen,_ not _mom,_ even with no one else in the room.

“Catra? I…just what Adora has told me.” So, not much, really. “She’s the one to ask.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

She stands from her seat and with a series of hand gestures clears the map from the war table and flips through Horde intelligence files until a hologram of Catra’s smirking face appears, glowing over the table between us.

“In just under a year, Force Captain Catra has emerged as one of the Horde’s key players, seemingly from nowhere. Since the Battle of Bright Moon, she may even outrank Shadow Weaver as second-in-command to Lord Hordak.” Another hand gesture and Catra’s image is replaced with the glowing text of her military profile. “The intel Adora has provided on her has been incredibly valuable, though…” She hesitates, then sighs. “Though I suspect it’s incomplete.”

That doesn’t sound like Adora, who’s never anything but thorough. I’m about to read through her profile to see what she thinks is missing when I notice her date of birth is wrong.

“Well I can tell you right away Catra isn’t,” I quickly do the math. “Fourteen. Pretty sure that’s Catra’s DOC date, not her date of birth.”

My mom furrows her brows, confused.

“Date Of Correction. The Horde doesn’t keep birth records and Adora was just a baby when they stole her. It was a while before she figured out they were different things.” I elaborate, pointing to the line labeled D.O.B. “They were in the same age bracket so Catra’s probably eighteen too.”

“DOC date.” My mom echoes flatly.

I nod.

“I’m not sure what’s worse—thinking of them as prison inmates, or the fact that it sounds an awful lot like _indoctrination_ date.” She closes her eyes and slumps her weight onto her hands, leaning over the table. “An infant and a four-year-old. Just when I think the Horde can stoop no lower.”

This all seems to be new information to her, which surprises me. Has Adora never told her any of this?

“Thank you, Glimmer.”

I nod, a little uneasy, then skim through the rest of the profile to find whatever it is my mom still thinks is wrong or missing—if anything it’s overly detailed. It’s hard to imagine a combat scenario that would benefit from knowing Catra’s favorite number or even that she dislikes water.

“Light sleeper?” I snort and quirk a brow. “I don’t know, mom. Seems pretty complete to me.”

“Yes, I was amused to find details as comprehensive as ‘lactose intolerant’ or ‘easily distracted by mice.’” She definitely does not _look_ amused. “Which is why it strikes me as odd that in all of her intel debriefs, Adora didn’t feel it was important to mention that Catra was also Shadow Weaver’s ward or that the two shared a bunk since early childhood.”

Oh wow, there’s a lot Adora hasn’t told her, which means—

My brain suddenly recalls certain conversations with my mom, like explaining to her that all the sleepovers were because our new friend was having a hard time adjusting, or detailing how exactly the Mystacor trip had been a disaster and clarifying that _no mom,_ Aunt Casta wasn’t the person responsible.

I swallow, thinking of countless other seemingly innocuous interactions in the months since and feeling like I’d unintentionally betrayed Adora’s confidence.

There’s a tense silence before my mom—the _Queen—_ addresses me again. “Commander Glimmer, you must understand that as the leader of the Rebellion, it’s my duty to be mindful of any potential threats, whether they are external or…or internal.“

It takes me a second to understand the implication. _“What?”_ I growl, instantly flushing with anger once I get it. “That’s _insane._ I can’t believe you think Adora would—“

“But as a _mother,”_ Her raised voice cuts me off and she wears the kind of stern look that warns me I could end up grounded for a few weeks if I push my luck.

The Queen isn’t addressing me anymore—this is my mom. I bite my tongue.

She starts again, her tone gentler this time. “As a mother, I feel a rather… _parental_ responsibility for the wellbeing of my daughter’s best friend.” She lets out a humorless huff, “Though frankly I think I’d feel protective of anyone that had grown up under the claws of someone so…” She grits her teeth, “So _poisonous_.”

My anger dissipates, replaced with confusion—

“I just wish she felt more comfortable talking to me.”

…and some awkward discomfort. I avoid her dejected expression but if I’m honest it’s nice to not be the object of her mom-guilt tactics for once.

“Unfortunately, I must be both the Rebellion’s leader and a mother.” She breaks the silence with a sigh. “Glimmer,” She nods to the image of Catra when it reappears with a wave of her hand. “Do you think Adora’s attachment to Catra could compromise her?”

“Attach— _what?”_ I blink. “Of course not! She _hates_ Catra.”

My mom quirks a slightly patronizing, almost amused, and very _annoying_ eyebrow. “Does she?”

“ _Obviously,_ they’re—“ I stutter. “They’re enemies!”

“We were Adora’s enemy, once.” She points out calmly.

“I mean, _yeah,_ but—she knows better now. Catra’s hurt Adora _so_ much, even—even before she left the Horde!” I think of the word I heard her use just now. “She’s _poisonous!”_

My mom seems taken aback for a second before she softens. “Oh, sweetheart.” She shakes her head and there’s an overwhelming sadness to her small smile. “It’s often our deepest attachments that bring us our greatest hurt. I dread to see Adora’s past with the Horde cause that girl any more pain.”

Something uncomfortable settles in the pit of my stomach, weighted like lead. Before I can think about the feeling for too long, a protective fire overcomes it and manifests in my growling tone. “No.” I shake my head. “No, I won’t let that happen. I won’t let Catra hurt her _ever_ again.”

That slightly patronizing, amused expression returns, now mixed with her sad smile. She’s not taking me seriously.

It only fuels my resolve.

“I _won’t_.”

“I don’t doubt you, Glimmer.” She assures gently. “But I’m not sure it’s quite so simple.”

It seems pretty simple to me.

The following months only reinforce that assessment of Force Captain Catra: devious, manipulative, evil, and also so, _so_ annoying. Treating every encounter with us as if it were part of some deranged little game that only she knew the rules for.

Then the portal happens.

Losing my mom so abruptly, so _pointlessly,_ and having to shoulder the enormous responsibility I thought she’d been holding me back from? It had never been a game, but suddenly everything was too real.

Adora doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge that reality. I mean, she _did._ In the first few days, she was nothing but impassioned apologies, promises to make things right, _so_ much guilt, and then once I finally stopped bursting into tears at unexpected intervals…as if nothing had happened.

I know it wasn’t Adora’s fault. I _know_ that. That blame belongs to the Horde—to Hordak, Entrapta’s unwitting participation, to _Catra_. I _shouldn’t_ be angry with Adora. But there’s something there, like a dismissed coal glowing beneath quiet ash.

Either way I have to keep whatever _that_ is in check, because there are more important things that I have to think about now.

Like tax legislature.

I’m Queen in all but title, so under Aunt Casta’s transitional supervision I now spend my mornings holding meetings with town leaders and community representatives about infrastructure proposals and other bureaucratic garbage I never even knew existed. It’s the _worst._ I’m barely able to hold back an exasperated groan before I can finally dismiss my 10:30 consult.

I need a break.

Bow is testing out a new arrow prototype on the weapons range and looks like he’s in Very Serious Tech Master mode. I decide not to bother him.

I teleport into the castle gardens to gauge whether Adora is busy, and frown at my feet when they land over piles of pruned rose bush carnage scattered all along the stone path. I lift my head and squint up—Adora is half cross-legged atop the rail of her bedroom balcony, leaning onto an elbow above one of her knees as her other leg dangles over the ledge. She looks deep in thought, hunched over on the rail, but then she lifts her head to look out across the castle gardens where I’m standing. I wave up at her from between the rose bushes before teleporting right next to her.

“Ugh, these meetings are _killing_ me—“

 _“AH—_ G-Glimmer!” Adora turns sharply and yelps, so startled that a piece of paper is whisked from her fingertips and floats right off the balcony ledge. She herself teeters precariously at her perch on the railing, her eyes wide and alarmed with fright.

“Whoa, hey!” I grasp her arm, stabilizing her.

I notice a pen in her hand as she clutches her chest. She takes a moment before exhaling, “You _scared_ me—“

“No kidding. Sorry, I really thought you saw…“ I nod over the railing when I notice the discarded paper on the ground near where I was standing. “Hang on.”

Adora’s eyes widen again. “No, Glim, it’s fine—“

I appear below and grab the paper as it trembles in the breeze near my feet, caught in—

 _“Ow.”_ My hand jerks back reflexively. I scowl as I reach down again and carefully pinch the corner of the paper to avoid the apparently very thorny pile of rose bush scraps that the paper got stuck on.

“Is it too much to ask for people to—“ I reappear on the balcony, mid-grumble, “—clean up after themselves?” A huff escapes me as I step towards Adora. “My bad. Here’s…” And sometimes I just don’t even _think_ like right now when I glance down and start to read the handwritten words:

_Dear Catra,_

“Oh. Uh,” My eyes widen. “Sorry.” I say, quickly shoving the paper back towards Adora. I look out over the gardens to avoid reading any more of the half-filled letter that she had been writing to…to _Catra?_

Adora is hesitant as she takes it, but she rushes to explain herself. “Listen, Glimmer, it’s not what you think.”

_What?_

I try to quell the heat of my anger before it ignites because there’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for why Adora is writing a letter to one of the principal people responsible for the fact that _my mother is—_

I take a deep breath before I speak. “What do I _think_ , Adora?” It’s still not quite as gracious as I’d been aiming for.

Adora closes her eyes and sighs heavily. “Look, I…I never told you, or Bow. About the portal.”

I clench my jaw as my blood turns to ice.

“When we were inside, Catra was…it was like everything was some…perfect version of my life before I found the Sword.” Adora bites her lip and swings her other leg over the ledge to look out over the gardens, and I can tell she’s hiding out of shame. “I didn’t remember you, or Bow, or,” She gestures around her, “ _Any_ of this. Just _her_ and all the messed up plans we had together.” Adora lifts her hand to the left crook of her neck, over her collarbone. I think it’s the same scar she was tracing in the Mystacor pool. She sniffs, “Promises.”

Finally. _Finally_ she’s acknowledging it. That her scars from Catra run deeper than a few sets of jagged claw marks.

“And—“ She swallows. “I tried to convince her to come with me. Again. I’ve tried to reach her so _many_ times, Glim. I mean that time I basically _kidnapped_ her, and she still just…” Her shoulders drop as she lets out a trembling breath. “I can’t keep pulling my punches with her. I can’t keep compromising everyone’s safety, I—I _have_ to let go.”

That icy feeling rushes down and out, scattering ash and flickering embers of _betrayal_ as I’m reminded of that word my mom used over a year ago:

Compromised _._

But then Adora looks back down at the now slightly crumpled letter, and she drops her hand from her collarbone to begin gingerly removing those thorns. Her head is turned just enough to reveal cheeks glistening with silent tears, and her voice is _so_ small, “Sorry.”

Just as the angry glow settled at the pit of my stomach is exposed, it begins to fade, rapidly cooled by the catharsis of Adora’s vulnerable and honest display. I place a comforting hand on her shoulder as she picks out the last thorn.

Adora wipes at her cheeks. “It’s not like she’ll ever read it.” She chuckles dryly even though her voice is still wet with tears. “I just had to get it out somewhere, y’know?”

I think of all the times I’ve written letters to someone yet no one just so I could get my feelings out somewhere. I think of how I used to write them to my mom all the time. So yeah, I _know._

Tears suddenly spring to my own eyes for the millionth time this month, and I pull Adora into a tight hug. It’s a little awkward with her body mostly turned away from me on the rail, but after a moment she sets the letter down and squeezes back.

I laugh—or maybe sob. I haven’t been sure lately. “So you’re saying _that,”_ I nod to the garden mess below. _“Wasn’t_ you getting your feelings out?”

Adora’s laugh is choked too, but it’s warm. “I try to limit my plant violence to trees. They can usually handle it.”

Our hug shakes from the combination of crying and laughter.

“Don’t tell Perfuma that.”

* * *

“I mean, he’s ridiculous, but it’s still so _obvious_ that Mermista really cares about him.” Perfuma sighs. “I don’t understand why she won’t just admit it and let herself be happy. We all deserve to be happy, right?”

Adora is mid-chew as she responds, cake crumbs at the corner of her mouth. “Well yeah, but there is a _war_ going on.”

Bow breaks out into an adorable mischievous grin before shuffling forward. “What, no time for,” He wiggles his brows at Adora, _“Romance?”_

“No, that’s—what?” Adora frowns at him. “I’m just saying she has an entire kingdom to worry about. We _all_ have more important things to worry about.”

Perfuma catches onto Bow’s suggestive tone and lowers her voice to a whisper. “Okay, but let’s say we _didn’t_ have to worry about all that stuff. What then?”

The question isn’t explicitly directed at anyone, which is why Adora hasn’t picked up on the fact that Bow and Perfuma are essentially grilling her about her romantic life as if we’re a bunch of teenagers having a sleepover.

Then I take in the scene before me: the four of us are in my room, sprawled out on our stomachs over a sea of cushions with an empty cake platter between us. Perfuma is resting her chin over her elbows, legs swinging restlessly behind her at the prospect of gossip. Adora’s way more interested in repeatedly swiping the cake platter for frosting and crumbs with her finger and licking it clean. I can tell that Perfuma thinks it’s a little uncouth, but we all did _just_ eat an entire cake with our bare hands, and it’s not like Adora is straight up just licking the platter. Which would be hilarious. Meanwhile Bow and I are shoulder to shoulder, tracker pad forgotten at his side. Oh, and we’re all wearing pajamas.

Right, so _technically_ it’s a debrief for the extraction of Mara’s ship in the Crimson Waste. Bow did the writeup and it’s protocol or whatever to debrief the team and make sure the accounts all line up. I skimmed the report and then I swear we really _were_ going to go over it together but it was so _late_ by the time we even got back and we’re _tired,_ and then there was _cake_ and I totally trust Bow’s gist of the situation anyway, so, I mean, yeah. It _is_ just a bunch of teenagers having a sleepover.

No wonder Huntara didn’t stick around long.

 _Huntara._ I remember our first trip to the Crimson Waste, experiencing firsthand the closest thing to Adora having a crush on anyone I’ve ever seen—this weird, competitive, brassy dynamic. I suddenly realize why Perfuma and Bow are putting her on the spot and can’t help but join in on the innocent teasing.

“If there was no war? Well,” I sigh loudly. “Maybe I’d have the time to really…” I mimic Bow’s eyebrow wiggle. _“Reconnect_ with an old friend.”

The overt suggestiveness isn’t missed by anyone, but it lands totally wrong with Adora because she doesn’t realize it’s actually about her, which I should’ve expected. She flashes me this crinkle-nosed look and a glance at Bow, and it doesn’t land quite right with him either, at first. My heart barely has time to flutter at what I’m pretty sure is _jealousy_ in his expression before he breaks into a playful grin because he’s figured out I’m just playing along.

Perfuma nudges Adora’s shoulder with a giggle. “What about you?” The three of us are now on the same page, wearing matching mischievous expressions as we wait for her response.

“I dunno.” She shrugs as she wipes at the corner of her mouth, _still_ completely oblivious. I can’t suppress an eyeroll at how _dense_ she is sometimes, but she’s preoccupied with flicking at a cake crumb on her sleeve and doesn’t notice anyway.

Bow finally takes a more blunt approach, which is, like. The _only_ way with Adora, honestly. “Speaking of old friends, how was seeing a familiar face today, Adora?”

Her expression darkens considerably, which is the opposite of what any of us were probably expecting.

She scoffs derisively, “Like running into a complete stranger.” Adora bites the inside of her cheek and aggressively flicks at her sleeve for a few tense seconds before almost shouting, “I don’t even know who she _is_ anymore.” She closes her eyes, shakes her head, then gives a resigned shrug. “Maybe I never did.”

I frown, suddenly confused and worried. “Wait, what?” I turn to Bow and Perfuma for clarification. Something obviously went down with Huntara that I didn’t hear about. “What happened out there?”

Bow and Perfuma look equally lost. Bow opens his mouth to speak but Adora answers me herself before he can say anything.

“We ran into _Catra_ ,” She spits, then adopts a mocking tone, “And her fancy new suit.” She blinks and frowns at me, confused. “It’s in Bow’s report. She almost derailed the mission.”

Wow. _Wow._

“We, uh.” Bow carefully cuts in, “We actually meant Huntara.” His voice is high-pitched and cracks with clear discomfort.

“Oh.“ Her frown returns as she glances around between all of us. “Wait _—”_ It finally clicks. Adora immediately flushes pink and her eyes widen. _“OH,_ I, u-uh! Fine. Seeing Huntara. There’s nothing going on there. It was fine.”

Perfuma tries to muffle her giggles and honestly, it’s hard not to be endeared by Adora right now as she hides her red face in her hands and stammers through her awkwardness—even if her cluelessness is exhausting sometimes. Inwardly, and for some reason that I can’t even fully explain, that anger is reignited.

* * *

And the fire only continued to steadily grow.

* * *

It was a cruel irony that at the peak of my power and influence, I’d also never felt less in control. It didn’t even matter what I did—if I stayed on my little throne and away from the action then Adora acted like she was in charge. But when I took matters into my own hands and sought out Catra myself I was scolded for being reckless and dangerous and for going behind Adora’s back. _Adora_ always knew best. She didn’t care that I was her superior; she wouldn’t respect my judgment as her friend _or_ as her Queen.

As if her judgment is so _perfect._

Obviously not, or we wouldn’t still be dealing with Catra. Adora said it herself: _she_ kept putting us all at risk because she couldn’t let go of this terrible, poisonous person—someone with zero magical abilities who’s now the Rebellion’s most dangerous enemy. It’s because of _Catra_ that Salineas fell and the Alliance is backed into a corner. It’s because of her that switch got pulled and my mom is gone. Because of her _no_ one has my back anymore—not _really—_ leaving me with no choice but to seek help from two former Horde officers and a mercenary shapeshifter.

“Well isn’t _this_ a fun twist?” Double Trouble croons delightedly, gracefully pushing themself upright in the armchair as they eye the small pouch dangling from my hand.

I ignore them and pull the pouch back. “Go straight to Catra, get her to draw as many troops out as you can.” I hand over the Horde tracker pad we seized when we swept _Flutterina’s_ quarters. “Use this to signal when it’s all clear. It’s programmed to relay Fright Zone surveillance access once it’s reconnected to their server, so I’ll see everything you do the second you set foot in enemy territory.” I say pointedly.

“What, no room for improv?” They raise a brow.

“No room for _betrayal.”_ I correct.

A swirl of black and green transforms a devious smile into a familiar infuriating smirk, and suddenly Catra sits in the armchair before me. She swings her legs over the side and lounges back, purring too slow, too syrupy, “Oh Princess, _so_ naïve.”

 _“Queen.”_ I correct through gritted teeth, forgetting on a primal level that this is _not_ Catra.

Not-Catra ignores me and adopts a mock-contemplative tone, “And who’s going to punish Double Trouble when they can simply… _double_ the double-cross and double their paycheck, hm?”

They’re clearly pleased with the little wordplay, judging from the playful spark in Not-Catra’s expression—the genuine delight is jarring and unfamiliar over her features. I’m torn between that initial instinct to _attack_ and the overwhelming urge to roll my eyes. I manage to hold back from doing either.

“No one.” I shrug, then casually assert, “But no one will have to, because you’re gonna keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh?” Not-Catra quirks an intrigued eyebrow. “Awfully bold assumption.”

“Why draw attention to an oversight that you intend to exploit?” I wink condescendingly. “I know Double Trouble is smarter than that.”

There’s a primal satisfaction in seeing Not-Catra’s tail flick with annoyance before her image melts back into Double Trouble’s true reptilian form.

“Which means you’ve already decided whose side you’re on. For now. Because _you,”_ A sly smirk spreads over my face. “Already know which side has the advantage.”

Double Trouble is rendered silent before my gamble is rewarded and a matching smirk crosses their face. They stand from the chair in a quick, fluid motion. “I may have overheard a thing or two. Sounds like you have some heavy artillery these days.”

I don’t respond—however much they actually know about the Heart is more than enough.

They lean their hip against the side of the chair and flourish an appreciative hand. “Bra- _va_. The Queen of Bright Moon, beating Commander Kitten at her own game. _Love_ a little dramatic irony.” They tuck the tracker pad…somewhere on their person. “And what _of_ the Horde’s fearless leader?”

“Just keep her distracted—Hordak too. Away from the Black Garnet chamber if you can.”

“What, no special requests? I could throw in a dramatic betrayal.” The slow curl of their widening smirk is almost sickening. “Sowing discord is one of my specialties, as you well know.”

“I don’t care how you do it.” I snap. “Just get it done.”

“Boo.” Double Trouble pouts and boredly examines the nails of their lithe green fingers as they transform into Catra’s claws again. Her too-velvety voice sighs, “She’s the same way, you know. All business, no pleasure.” They twirl a few strands of Not-Catra’s hair around a fingertip as her mismatched eyes study me in silence. Chestnut becomes platinum again and I’m not sure which form makes the scrutiny feel more disconcerting. “Kind of funny if you think about it.”

The long pause that follows tells me they’re baiting my curiosity, and against my better judgment I rise to it.

“What’s funny.” I say flatly.

“Oh, just that the two of you aren’t so different is all.”

“I am _nothing_ like Catra.” I immediately snarl.

“Oh honey settle down.” They roll their eyes, flicking their hair over a shoulder with flair. “It’s _far_ from an insult. She’s brilliant.”

I feel a hot prickle of annoyance. “She’s also a terrible person.”

Without warning, I grab their arm and teleport us to the edge of the Whispering Woods. I’m almost disappointed to find Double Trouble completely unaffected by an experience that leaves most first-timers nauseous, or at least disoriented. They just dust at their arm as if my hand had left literal glitter there, then frown into the darkness past the treeline.

“What, no ride?” They cross their arms at me, unimpressed.

“What, afraid of a little method acting?” I mimic their crossed-armed stance, then dramatically fan the back of my hand over my forehead. “Exhausted, covered in dirt, the _perils_ you faced to make it back!”

I toss the pouch into the dirt in front of us, then smugly re-cross my arms. The glare this earns feels better than it should.

Until it spreads into that smirk again. “See? Being devious is _fun.”_

I whip around with a defensive glare. “I’m one of the good guys. _We’re_ the good guys.”

“Ugh, _this_.” They groan. “The moral spectrum isn’t a binary, darling. There’s every shade of gray and a whole rainbow of hues for people to fall on.” They cock a hip and give me a not-so-subtle look over just _dripping_ with judgment. “You’d think someone that favors such a…” I pointedly glance down at the pouch sitting in the dirt like _do you really wanna go there_ and their expression of open distaste is replaced with one of strained flattery. “I mean—surely someone that cultivates such a _harmonious_ color palette can understand that.”

I’ve had enough. “I’ll wait for your signal.”

They take the hint, bending over to pick up the pouch with a fake dejected sigh as I turn around to leave.

Catra’s voice makes me pause.

“You virtuous types _are_ always transparent, though, I’ll give you that.”

I turn just enough to see Not-Catra opening the pouch to view its contents.

“Which is _so_ boring. But,” They hold up her clawed finger. “Uncomplicated. None of that messy hidden motive _drama_.” Not-Catra rolls her eyes and draws the pouch closed.

I frown as I fully turn back around. “What does that even mean?”

It’s hard not to shudder when Flutterina’s impassioned voice answers, “Fight injustice, end oppression—protect the innocent!” She grows back into Double Trouble’s slim height, their timbre swooping down to normal through a fake yawn. “Being noble is _not_ a replacement for a personality.”

I roll my eyes. “No, I mean—“ I hesitate for a moment. “I mean Catra. She wants control of Etheria. What else is there?”

The way their bored expression smoothly morphs into wry delight tells me I played right into their hand. Again.

“Oh, sweetheart.” They sneer as they throw up air quotes, “’Control of Etheria’ is a goal, not a motive. Motives are all about,” Their air quotes become a little hand flourish. “ _Desire.”_

I’m suddenly uneasy about the suggestive word choice, but…I have to know. “So what’s her hidden _desire,_ then?” I growl, full of impatience and dread at the same time.

That slow curl of a sharp-toothed smile, the sideways blink, arrogant and _knowing_ how the question sounds and _exactly_ what I mean by it—it’s all the confirmation I need and it churns something familiar in the pit of my stomach. That weight, like lead, the steady glow of coals fueling the fire.

“Now, now. Gossip is just petty intel, and intel, well.” There’s a _clink, clink, clink,_ as they jostle the pouch. _Intel is extra_. “But I think you already know the answer to that, don’t you.”

It’s not a question. I do.

It’s the deranged truth that I think I’ve known all along, deep down. They’re words Catra herself said to me almost two years ago, but I understand what they really mean now:

“She wants—“ I swallow. “Adora. She wants control of Adora.”

Double Trouble’s chuckle is low and wicked. “Well, that’s _one_ way to put it.” They turn, uninterested in my response. “Chat soon, darling! Ta-ta!” They toss over their shoulder and disappear into the dark of the Whispering Woods, leaving me alone in the cold silence.

* * *

That wasn’t cold, wasn’t silence, and it _definitely_ wasn’t alone. Not really.

It was damp and dark, standing at the edge of the woods, feeling abandoned and betrayed by the people I trusted most in the world, but it was still alive. There was still warmth in the animated buzzing at the edge of the forest. There were still the gentle sounds of leaves brushing, of the trickling shoreline rhythm. There was still life, and there was still magic that could take me to anyone on the planet, at any time.

I didn’t know until now that _real_ cold could mean blinding lights and pristine surfaces. That _real_ silence permeates so deeply, it eventually becomes a deafening white noise. That to truly be _alone_ is to be genuinely unsure whether your stream of consciousness is happening aloud or in your mind, and that it doesn’t really matter either way.

Cold, silent, artificial, lifeless.

Alone.

How long have I even been up here?

Terror rushes through me, and I instinctively reach for my magic like I have thousands of times in my life only to grasp stale, filtered air. Again.

And again.

Again and again and again.

I can’t teleport, but I can’t just _stop_ moving. I’m not sure what would happen if I did.

_“You can’t hold me here forever!”_

I _hate_ how relieved I am the first time Catra breaks the silence and I _hate_ that the warmth she brings doesn’t come from the anger she’d helped fuel for so long. At this point that fire in particular is almost gone, but the space it occupied isn’t empty. There’s a new feeling there now. Because I saw her face. I heard the level way she asked me what I was waiting for.

_Do it._

Like she didn’t even care about her own life.

_Looks like we’re both alone, Sparkles._

And then suddenly we’re on Prime’s ship and it’s like none of that happened. Catra switched right back to lying and manipulating her way through everything, only now it’s in order to not _die._ In order for _me_ to not die. As casually as if she’s had to do it thousands of times in her life, coming as naturally to her as my teleportation comes to me.

Well, _used_ to come to me.

The second time a clone escorts me from my cell to see Prime—alone this time—I suddenly wonder if Catra is having a similar problem. The realization that at any time, any of the clones can become a vessel for Prime himself leaves real fear written all over her face. It’s a completely foreign image, and as I pass by her it makes me think space has somehow done something to her abilities, too—even if hers aren’t magic.

We’re barely around the corner when the clone’s hands drop from my shoulders and our brisk pace becomes leisurely. Prime’s voice speaks through him again and I resist the urge to shudder.

“I apologize for making a scene. I have _told_ her time and time again not to bother you.” He sighs slowly, a perversion of the sound a disappointed parent makes because of their misbehaving child. “It’s curious.” He continues, “How Catra has gone so _far_ out of her way to mock you and antagonize your charming Rebellion for, what? Three years?”

I swallow nervously and can’t hold back a small shudder this time. I’m suddenly reminded of Shadow Weaver, and how _sinister_ it is to speak that way about someone who serves his cause. It’s also disquieting that he knows those details—I can’t imagine Catra dropped any of that over a casual dinner chat—but that last feeling is nothing compared to what comes next:

“All that petty violence caused by one girl’s broken little heart.”

_No._

“Although I am told unrequited love can be _deeply_ painful.”

I realize the expression I just saw on Catra’s face isn’t quite adequate because she should be _terrified_. Does he—how? _How—_

Don’t react. Don’t look at him. He’s fishing. _Is he?_

I continue facing forward and do everything I can to keep my expression neutral, even bored. My breathing is shaky, but still a quiet, even tempo. My blood however is rushing, _pounding_ in my ears, my frantic thoughts scattered and all-consuming.

How could he possibly know— _any_ of this? And… _love?_ The thought of Adora returning that at all, how—what would even make him think—but could she? _Did_ she?

I stop that thought from developing, suddenly acutely afraid that he’ll be able to hear it if I do. _He can’t._ I tell myself, because it’s absurd…except. _He could._

“Still, it seems so selfish and needless, don’t you think?”

He—his vessel, I guess—physically stops. I can’t get away with not responding to the direct question.

I’m able to compose myself just enough to say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With the most detached voice I can manage.

It’s not very convincing.

“Hm.” He acknowledges, unreadable. His tone becomes pleasant, “Excuse me while I prepare for company. I’ll see you shortly, Queen Glimmer.”

Green eyes roll back and I’m left with just another nameless clone.

Catra won’t last long in a game against Prime.

I think about how she’s dedicated everything to serving the Horde under the delusion that she can come out on top. Now she’s at a dead-end, one that’s coming _soon_. I think of all the ugly and terrible things about her that are there because they’re all she’s ever known. I think of how many things Adora had to unlearn after she left the Horde, how they’re all probably still a part of Catra. Finally, I think of how all-consuming her feelings for Adora must have been for her to have trapped herself in this situation, and I’m able to put a word to the new feeling I have towards her:

Pity.

The thought of me pitying her would drive her _crazy_ —the reverse would definitely drive _me_ crazy, anyway. And then I think about it. And think about it some more. Because I have a lot of time to think about it these days.

Like, seriously a _lot._

And it finally becomes clear that the burning feeling at the pit of my stomach these last three years wasn’t really about Catra. Those angry coals are still there, and they’ve always been there, but they were about _me_. My insatiable, _stupid_ need to be right, to prove myself, to call the shots. To be taken seriously, to be listened to.

To win. Maybe…maybe even to control.

As soon as I admit it to myself, I hear Bow’s coy, charming voice of reason as if he were in the room with me:

_Now who else does that remind me of?_

I want to laugh and then I want to _cry_ as a devastating mixture of fondness, remorse, and shame hits me so hard it’s like I forget how to breathe. And then it rushes, down and out, and I’m alight with that fire again, only it’s different now. It’s not so much anger as it is longing and determination to get _out_ of this and get back to him—and Adora—to make things right, to tell them how sorry I am. That I was wrong. It burns so hot I can barely stand it.

It helps keep the terror at bay, because the truth is that I’m separated from Bow and Adora and everyone on Etheria by thousands of millions of miles or whatever vast new unit of measurement that Entrapta has probably coined by now. Maybe I’ll be stuck on this soulless, unsettling nightmare of a spaceship for a really long time and, well, they _could_ hold me here forever. But even if the time up here stretches and compresses in eerie ways, even if it’s time spent in cold silence…maybe it doesn’t necessarily have to be time spent alone.

So I let go of my stubbornness for once. I think maybe Catra does, too.

And we fall into this little game. It always _starts_ with snark, and there’s a little bit of begrudging acknowledgement that we _both_ need this, and then once we can find some common ground it turns out it’s actually really easy to laugh with Catra, back to back against the barrier of my cell. Well, _positive_ common ground. I also learn it’s really easy to scare Catra away if a topic becomes a little too real.

Either way it’s usually about Adora, and it’s always a high-wire balancing act.

“She had to suddenly act like she was—get this—an _art major_.”

Catra’s raspy laugh is full and crackling. “An _art_ major?”

“Right?” My own laugh is high and melodic. “Like, what was Bow _thinking?”_

“Oh, man. Adora can barely draw a stick figure!” There’s this squeaky quality to her laugh that I’d never noticed until recently. Probably because I’d never heard her _really_ laugh. “I’m sure she was just sweating with nerves.”

“Literally. She was _literally_ sweating.”

We’re both laughing, clear and loud. I know it’s not real—this illusion is just our way of coping, but it still feels like something. Maybe even healing.

“The whole thing was a total disaster.” I groan good-naturedly, as if I wouldn’t give anything to go back to that right now.

“She didn’t pull it off?” Catra sounds skeptical as our laughter settles.

“Oh, not even close.” I scoff. “She lasted, like, five minutes before she blew his cover.”

“Wow.” She whistles. “Don’t ever let her live it down.”

“Never.” I suddenly feel a completely new warmth for Catra. I’m not sure she realizes that her phrasing presumes a future where Bow and I will tease Adora about her bad acting. I don’t know if she says it because she genuinely believes it or if she’s just preserving this little game we’ve been playing, in which everything is okay. Either way, I’m grateful, and I play along. “Bow and I have it covered.”

“Good.” Catra lets out a soft, wistful laugh, “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

There’s not a trace of malice or bitterness in how she says it. I tilt my head, curious.

“What do you mean?”

There’s a long pause that makes me think we’ve crossed some kind of line I wasn’t aware of and that I scared Catra into silently slipping away like she always eventually does. It’s the only way our game can really end. Even if I’m the one that wants to run away, I obviously can’t, and it’s not exactly the kind of conversation where either of us can say, _alright, well, take care! I’ll see you the next time I can’t handle the loneliness of being trapped on an alien ship! Might be in just a couple hours, who knows!_

Except she’s still here.

“Oh, just.” Catra eventually breaks the silence and lets out another soft laugh. “It’s just surprising. That she let herself fail to…I don’t know. Protect him, or whatever.”

_Huh._

“Well it wasn’t exactly a high-stakes situation.” I say wryly, then snort. “I mean the whole thing ended with a five-person family hug.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and she scoffs, “Of course it did.”

I scramble to get our game back on track and quickly add, “She started doing all this research when we got back, too.” I laugh, remembering, “You know, for the _next time_ she’d have to pretend to be an art major.”

It’s the right thing to say, and the way Catra scoffs this time is warm and totally different, “Of _course_ she did.” I can hear the eyeroll in her voice. “I can just _see_ her pulling up data files on painting techniques or art history or something, and then dead serious being like,” Catra adopts this oafish yet over-enunciated impersonation of Adora that’s nothing like how she speaks but somehow encapsulates her perfectly, _“‘Well I should probably do all this other research too because you never know what will happen.’”_ Her voice comes back up to normal, _“_ And then suddenly she’s got a dissertation and teaches two classes.”

I burst out laughing. “Yeah, that’s…“ Catra is laughing along with me, and inwardly I’m a little stunned because it’s an absurd over-exaggeration but it’s not that far from what _actually_ happened: Adora literally checked out an art history book, along with several others—I remember seeing them stacked on her desk. By the time Bow’s dads visited for my coronation she was tracking complex conversations with two men that had literally dedicated their lives to academia. “Wow, yeah. That’s…her.”

Another tense silence happens, and I wonder if Catra’s feeling like she just showed too much of her hand or something, because it’s too intimate. Too dead-on. I mean, I already kind of _knew,_ but she didn’t… _know_ that I knew. She’ll probably leave this time.

She still doesn’t.

“She…” Catra starts hesitantly, “She actually used to do that—cover for me, I mean. When we were cadets. And she was _good_ at it. Making excuses so I wouldn’t get in trouble, lying to superior officers if I skipped training.” She pauses. “Give me credit for stuff, bump up my stats so we’d stay in the same unit.”

I frown, remembering the plan to catch Double Trouble and how uncomfortable Adora had been when asked to lie to all of our friends. How the reason it’s so hard for her is probably because she fundamentally disagrees with it. Suddenly the illusion is shattered and the reality comes crashing down—that Catra was always manipulative and used Adora for her own gain.

But then:

“Just _has_ to fix my problems. Like, _come_ on.” She scoffs, “If _Kyle_ is in our unit, clearly Shadow Weaver’s problem is _not_ my stats.” She huffs humorlessly, then mutters, “Making it worse, if anything. I’ll even tell her to back off and let me handle it, but she just _loves_ being the hero of the hour. So she just,” Another huff, “Doesn’t listen.” I can imagine Catra rolling her eyes again before she puts on that same dumbass-Adora impersonation, _“‘Because I’m Adora and I know best.’”_

My heart starts pounding, and once again I hear Bow’s coy voice of reason, this time goofy and over-exaggerated: _Now who else does that remind me of?_

It’s like a floodgate opens.

“It’s even more annoying because somehow she _does_.” I add, then throw up my hands and shout, “Seriously! How is she _always_ right?”

Catra is onboard right away and scoffs, “Oh, please. I came to terms with that _years_ ago. She’s always right because she’s always the best at…I mean _everything._ Just naturally exceptional at everything she tries. _”_

“Ugh, it’s _true!”_

“Even when she was bad at something she would instantly figure out how to _not_ be bad at it. How to conquer it. And just like that,” Catra snaps her finger. “She’s the best. Pointless to even try.”

I nod along emphatically, _“Right?_ And I can’t even call her a show-off because Adora doesn’t have a self-serving bone in her body—“

There’s something both soft and derisive in Catra’s, _“—_ she really doesn’t _—“_

“—so it’s not for the attention. How could it be?” I growl, “When she’s the most oblivious person on the entire damn _planet!”_

The laugh this elicits from Catra is _loud_ and she even claps through it a few times _. “She SO is!”_

I’m yelling at this point, “—and then on top of that she just _has_ to be the most genuinely, and—and like _naturally…”_ I huff, _“_ _GOOD_ person I’ve ever met other than Bow—“

“Nuh-uh.” Catra’s still wheezing, “Arrow-Boy _wishes_ —”

“—so I _have_ to let her lead the way because she _should—_ “

“—and she _knows_ it—“ I can hear another eyeroll.

“—and even with all of that it’s like.” Both our laughter settles enough for me to catch my breath for a second. “It’s like I still can’t help but feel so…so _lucky_ —“

“—that you get to be a part of her life—“

I stutter, “—to be— _exactly!”_

“—this ambitious, _special_ life—“

I close my eyes, “—and even with her super important and powerful destiny—“

“—if she still chooses _you_ over all that—“

“—I know she’ll _always—“_ My eyes shoot open. Wait.

“—then you must be the most important thing in the entire universe.”

“…have my back.” I finish quietly. I go still then, because. Well, because.

Catra stutters to fill this new kind of silence before I can process what she’s saying—what it means—and maybe that’s the point. “I-I mean. _Y_ _ou_ know, Sparkles.” There’s a vitriol to the way she says ‘Sparkles’ that I haven’t heard since we were on Etheria. “You _know_ how that feels _._ She left her entire life with—i-in the Horde. For you and Arrow-boy and your perfect little Princess life. She _chose_ you.”

“She…” Adora didn’t choose _us._ She didn’t even really choose She-Ra—she didn’t have a choice at all. “More like she was _chosen._ We just, I don’t know. Happened to be there. I—” My face gets hot as I remember how stupid I had been, even in the very beginning. A few months ago, those words would have been laced with bitterness. Not anymore. “I was actually kind of jealous.” When I think about it now, I think about how she embraced that burden without hesitation, with no feeling of superiority, not out of a need to prove herself, but simply because it was _right_ and it was _necessary_. But…if she hadn’t needed to?

I return sharply to the present, because Catra just said another thing that I think—I think…

“What _was_ she like?” I ask, “Before?”

The silence has barely started, but I feel certain that we’ve crossed some kind of new line and that Catra will have quietly slipped away by the time I turn. Which is why it’s so surprising that when I do, she’s still there, leaning back against the barrier.

I swallow, and start to face forward again, but she actually turns and meets my eyes, just for a split-second. There’s this flash of—some kind of recognition. I’m not sure of what, but I know it’s important.

Catra sighs, and her tone sounds light, but it feels like dread:

“She was exactly the same.”

Catra lingers, and I watch her profile from my periphery as I process everything, because. I don’t know. It feels like this missing piece just clicked into place.

_Adora wanted Catra with her._

I inhale sharply.

_Adora loved her back._

I know it’s true as soon as the thought manifests. Images flash through my mind—Adora’s collarbone scar, that look of uncomplicated joy the first and only time she talked about it. That _letter_. All their plans. Promises. More that I can’t even remember explicitly but I just _know._

I’m brought out of my thoughts when I actually hear Catra get up this time, only because she’s not trying to sneak away. I make eye contact with her again as she does, and it’s the closest she gets to saying goodbye.

When she’s gone, I sigh and let my head thump back with a little crackle against the glowing barrier.

_She loved you back._

How did I not realize this sooner. _How._

Because it’s undeniable now—almost obvious in retrospect. Loud, infuriating, _evil_ Force Commander Catra was a version of Catra that I made up to fit my own narrative, and to soothe my own insecurities.

Well. She’s still infuriating and loud, but also funny, clever, _unsettlingly_ quiet, wistful, angry, lonely, even _shy._ Different facets of Catra have continued to reveal themselves in various versions and combinations the more we’ve talked.

So many versions that I can see Adora being in love with.

There was that first glimpse of something deeper, right before Prime brought us up. It wasn’t a nice image—seeing wounds beyond the visible injuries she’d sustained in her fight with Hordak. _That_ version of Catra had nothing left to lose, no reason to try and push my buttons or to fight at all.

 _That_ version of Catra had pretty much given up.

What does it say that it’s the same version of Catra that I just saw, and the one I’m seeing more and more the longer we’re on this horrible ship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI Y’ALL i’m back yikes sorry. who’s ready for excuse time! mine is pretty unique actually bc i had bRaIn surgery ✨🧠✨ yoinks (this was at the end of october—i also hilariously believed i could do every day of inktober that month knowing full well that was gonna be happening. 🙄🤦🏻) also i’m all good, just to clarify.
> 
> anyway back on track
> 
> 1\. anyone else notice a whole lotta glimmer+fire imagery/symbolism especially in season 4? she’s so smol and angy (ง •̀_•́)ง
> 
> 2\. part of the reason this has taken so long is because glimmer apparently takes a lot of time to move past her stubbornness and rage and i ended up deciding to split her chapter into two parts SO the good news of THAT is part 2 is very close to done and therefore will be coming shortly after this, and also. part 2 a lot of fun imo (certainly compared to part 1 anyway) and i’m v excited to share it. in which glimmer is like ‘bow pls end me before the useless lesbians do’
> 
> 3\. oh and speaking of bow—hope y’all were ok with some full-on glimbow cos....here we r. i guess it’s probably time to actually add that tag
> 
> 4\. ok also i feel like a big reason why glim’s has been such a big boi is i think there are....a lot of missing gaps that bring glimmer to where she is now and how she thinks about catra/adora/catradora. i also wanted to get a little insight into angella’s perception of them aaaaand i also needed more glitra, because they are. extremely very similar even though they would never admit it 👀
> 
> 5\. writing double trouble is everything i’m. so excited 😬😬😬😬
> 
> 6\. roses
> 
> 7\. [here is the spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2VJZz5dKFvlhwhlnNIo564?si=90Dnf12SRYCNC0blvoTY4w) that gets me into the peripheries vibe, in no particular order, mixed in with some of noelle’s character playlist tracks ✨
> 
> 8\. hit me up on [tumblr](https://hedarey.tumblr.com/) or [insta](https://www.instagram.com/kateimations/) if ya feel like a chat

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Peripheries - Bow [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520151) by [caminante](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caminante/pseuds/caminante)




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